"Evidently he could not destroy these children of his. Gerald’s breath caught. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. 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. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it. Then, presto! What a dreary lot they are when the revellers lay aside the motley! Ruth had come from a far South Sea isle.
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