"Do you know what you make me think of?" "What?" "As if you had stepped out of some old family album. Byrom,—a poet of whom his native town, Manchester, may be justly proud; and his features and figure have been preserved by the most illustrious of his companions on the present occasion,—Hogarth,—in the levée in the "Rake's Progress," and in "Southwark Fair. ’ ‘It will be worth the pain, you will see. The softly glittering summer stars! She saw them shining over mountains of snow, over valleys of haze and warm darkness. Fire; she was full of it. She was perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the street lamp at the corner reassured her. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence.
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