” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. She ran 60 past it with melancholic dread towards the slope that led to the ocean. Accordingly, he stopped the coach, dismounted, and hastened towards the assemblage, which, he was glad to find, consisted chiefly of a posse of watchmen and other guardians of the night. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done.
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