A town called Foster. Most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. This circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting. The slow stars circled on to the moment of their meeting. And yet he knew clearly and definitely what he purposed to do, what the future would be. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness.
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