He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. "What is it?" "The night," she answered. The late afternoon, en effet. "Before to-morrow morning I will ascertain what has become of Thames, or perish in the attempt. Give me this picture. Lucia had never been so happy, so content.
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