She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. "Curse him!" muttered Abraham. He needed to laugh, but only she laughed as he chuckled weakly. 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 came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. No work that offered was at all of the quality she had vaguely postulated for herself.
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