There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. She tucked her stick under her arm and re-read Manning’s letter. E. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. Find them at Remenham House—if you can. I shall barely be in time for the theatre. The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. It’s the public entrance. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks.
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