“Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. In
her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was
pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about
himself. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been
a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him
down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon
the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. 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. That is an evil
place!” She cried.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 05-07-2024 15:35:09