Gianfrancesco took her that night gently, for which she was glad. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. The sounds of the seashore infiltrated her dreams as she floated in heavenly bliss of sleep. " "I've nothing to confess," replied Thames, boldly; "I've done no wrong.
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