The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. When I'm alone I don't mind. She was wholly unable to conceal her knowledge of his presence. 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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