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Updated: May 28, 2025
His face looked drawn, and his eyes burned smoulderingly like fire half-quenched. "Nan, if I didn't care so much, I'd ask you to go away with me. I don't quite know what life will be like without you hell, probably. But at least it's going to be my own little hell and I'm not going to drag you down into it. I'm bound irrevocably. And you you're bound, too.
Then, advancing boldly again, they released their hands from something which they had been holding, and lo! four jets of water struck at the very roots of the flames, tripped at them, and made them stagger, drove them twice into the roof, and caught them with deadly accuracy as they came out again; and, in less than five minutes, changed all their brave splendor to dull, black smoke, and set the victor's mark upon them the column of white steam which arises from the half-quenched embers, and proclaims that the fire is put out of mischief at last.
It was strange to see her burn on thus wastefully, with half-quenched luminaries, when the dawn was already grown strong enough to show me, and to suffer me to recognise, a solitary figure standing by the piles. Or was it really the eye, and not rather the heart, that identified the shadow in the dusk, among the shoreside lamps? I know not.
"I am so glad you have come. I don't know what to do," she said presently. "You do not have to know. I know. It is decided. I love you I have always loved you. And no one shall ever come between us. You are mine mine only." He went on pouring out his soul to her. "My old Doctor ?" she began presently, and looked up at him with eyes "like stars half-quenched in mists of silver dew." "He agrees.
Was there ever such a sunny street as this Broadway! The pavement stones are polished with the tread of feet until they shine again; the red bricks of the houses might be yet in the dry, hot kilns; and the roofs of those omnibuses look as though, if water were poured on them, they would hiss and smoke, and smell like half-quenched fires. No stint of omnibuses here!
"If I wasn't as weak as a brimstone baby, sir," whispers Grandfather Smallweed, drawing the lawyer down to his level by the lapel of his coat and flashing some half-quenched green fire out of his angry eyes, "I'd tear the writing away from him. He's got it buttoned in his breast. I saw him put it there. Judy saw him put it there.
It was strange to see her burn on thus wastefully, with half-quenched luminaries, when the dawn was already grown strong enough to show me, and to suffer me to recognise, a solitary figure standing by the piles. Or was it really the eye, and not rather the heart, that identified that shadow in the dusk, among the shoreside lamps? I know not.
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