The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. It’s no good hiding it any more. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. “I knew you would feel it,” said Miss Miniver, as they came away flushed and heated. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. Stanley in person. After all, life had still its pulsations.
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