Stanley poured wine. Not a star could be discerned, but, in their stead, streaks of lurid radiance, whence proceeding it was impossible to determine, shot ever and anon athwart the dusky vault, and added to the ominous and threatening appearance of the night. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. Earles protested, seating himself before the desk, and dipping his pen in the ink.
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