‘And so?’ she asked. She moved a little nearer to him. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat. The ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream—the darkling current hurrying by—the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghostlike silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note—the solemn shadows cast by the bridges—the deeper gloom of the echoing arches—the lights glimmering from the banks—the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge—the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;—these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. “Well, you have thought it over?” he said, sitting down beside her. She bought her Greyhound ticket one steamy afternoon when school let out at eleven thirty A.
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