She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. gutenberg. ” John’s father, Thomas, strode into the front hall at that moment in his golf clothes. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. ” It came upon him like a flash. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. ’ I said. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. The ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream—the darkling current hurrying by—the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghostlike silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note—the solemn shadows cast by the bridges—the deeper gloom of the echoing arches—the lights glimmering from the banks—the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge—the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;—these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place.
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