‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. It was hard to meet that gaze. “Please stop, cabman,” she ordered. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down.
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