Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. 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. He was now a sophomore at Lincoln, Lucy a Junior, and Shari a Senior. "If you touch me I will kill you," said Ruth, grasping the scissors which lay beside the pencils—Hoddy's! The Wastrel laughed, still advancing.
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