"I've been wondering, until this morning, if you were real. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines. For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless. 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. ’ ‘It is so in a convent, you see,’ she explained airily. “You doubted me?” She joked. Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’ ‘Yes, yes. But probably not the truth. .
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