167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. The door was then locked, and he was left alone. “You know about my scandalous past?” “Very little. 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. See? Nothing really. ’ ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that,’ Gerald uttered in a rueful tone.
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