. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. But I request that a third may be given to Langley. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. He wanted to become a millionaire. Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion. 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.
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