The ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream—the darkling current hurrying by—the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghostlike silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note—the solemn shadows cast by the bridges—the deeper gloom of the echoing arches—the lights glimmering from the banks—the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge—the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;—these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place. Your second turn is not over, is it?” She laughed a little hardly. There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs or disarranged furniture. "What is it?" "The night," she answered. There was no response. "No," replied Jack, peremptorily. He was bewildered. No, not one little bit. “John, you were never bound to me, you don’t owe me anything. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. She foraged about in her mind for some satisfying equivalent which would express in English this gurgling drone the Chinese called a language. Manning’s proposal of marriage.
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