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The surface of the river was like polished ebony a dream-path wrought of gloom and gleam. The banks were lines of dusk, except where some lone cottonwood loomed skyward like a giant ghost clothed with a mantle that glistered and darkled in the chill star-sheen. There was the feel of moving in eternity about it all. The very limitation of the dusk gave the feeling of immensity.
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