"I often stand and lean on it and--and watch the sunset." She faltered at this point, because she had suddenly remembered that this was a habit of hers, and that she had often spoken of it to the Osborns.

There was a point on the bridge at which, through a gap in the trees, a beautiful sunset was always particularly beautiful.

It was the right-hand rail facing these special trees she rested on when she watched the evening sky.
The big, young gardener looked at the left-hand rail and shook it with his strong hands.
"That's safe enough," he said to Jane.
"Try the other," said Jane.
He tried the other.

Something had happened to it.

It broke in his big grasp.