As concertmaster, it was Lucy’s duty to seat the orchestra as well as tune them. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. Sheila bellowed, a great wail of a sound from deep in her belly, flinging her tremendous weight towards him. 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. “For your own sake, let me beg of you not to stay for a moment. He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him.
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