“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. “How unkind!” she exclaimed. Finding all attempts at conversation with his companion in misfortune in vain, Wood, in order to distract his thoughts, looked up at the gigantic structure standing, like a wall of solid darkness, before him. "Thames, I entreat—" "Your wishes are my laws, beloved, girl," replied Kneebone, bowing profoundly. “Are you sick, Michelle? Maybe you should have stayed home.
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