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. She was as fair as the lily of the lotus. “You certainly got him in the bag. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. ‘The general himself?’ ‘How shall I get my inheritance if the general will believe that pig?’ ‘Do wish you wouldn’t keep on calling him a pig,’ Martha begged.
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