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 not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man. In his youth he must have been a remarkably handsome man, for he is still handsome. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. Don't be afraid—I won't hurt you. ‘Melusine, don’t sit there. They incubate and grow at phenomenal speed, their hunger is tenthousand times what our greatest hunger could ever be.
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