" "She is a matchless creature!" exclaimed the young man. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. He filled the rôle of comrade which Spurlock dared not enact, at least not utterly as he would have liked. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. ‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do. ‘It is pretty.
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