There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. She was thinking fast now, all her senses on the alert. “Better state of mind,” she gasped. "But I have one last request to make. I can now give myself to God utterly; no human emotion will ever be shuttling in between. “I think that’s the right name. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed.
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