There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. Rattles were sprung; lanterns lighted, and hoisted at the end of poles; windows thrown open; doors unbarred; and, as if by magic, the street was instantaneously filled with a crowd of persons of both sexes, armed with such weapons as came most readily to hand, and dressed in such garments as could be most easily slipped on. “I think she would,” she decided.
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