Mrs. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. But the clearly definite thing was the ultimate escape.
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