The general had little doubt he was going to be asked to provide for the fellow as well as for his legitimate descendant. Jests are not for seasons like this. You’re mine. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. 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. But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes.
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