A thin line of red appeared in the white neck. Wow. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table. She backed away from him. 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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