“Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?” she exclaimed. For your information, it was paradise there. 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. Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. Her naked body was an abomination of caked filth and sagging tubes for breasts. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. Gravely he placed them in his aunt's hand.
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