I MUST. Could she go through with it? She must. “You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss.
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