It was the last thing she felt like drinking. " "Hark!" cried Winifred, "Thames is arrived. " "And you whipped the beast? I passed him. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. She looked at him curiously. They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path. He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. It is not for myself I fear.
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