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It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. It was necessary to think, and think quickly. Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. All at once they came to the top, the faded blue sky overhead, and whichever way he looked, the horizon, the great rocking circle which hemmed them in.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-09-2024 04:29:54