Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. “Of course I’m manager for this expedition,” he said, after an interval of self-examination. ‘Nothing. Byby.
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