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There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. We must always move on. And she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the wildest gestures. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. The water was cold but she waded deeper. Sheppard. "Your ladyship is far too unwell to travel," remarked the female attendant, assisting her to rise; "you'll never be able to reach Manchester.
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