What he wanted desperately was to be alone. This unexpected interpolation might spoil the efficacy of all that had gone before. Will you please—Not now, or I must go. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. “Please stop by. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. She had been working upon a ribbon of microtome sections of the developing salamander, and he came to see what she had made of them. Smith's solitary orb followed in the same direction. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. 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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