She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. The knight, who could ill brook this familiarity, instantly arose. In a very definite sense we are in the wrong —hopelessly in the wrong. “Dare!” she said. Her neck was smeared with red and remorse flooded him. He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. . There was no one to be seen. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. No window. . ’ She spoke with difficulty, holding down the rising emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. He was speechless. He begged their attention for the next turn.
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