“By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. “And we will sail that splendor wide, From day to day together, From isle to isle of happiness Through year’s of God’s own weather. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. The south or principal front, looking, down the Old Bailey, and not upon it, as is the case of the present structure, with its massive walls of roughened freestone,—in some places darkened by the smoke, in others blanched, by exposure to the weather,—its heavy projecting cornice, its unglazed doubly-grated windows, its gloomy porch decorated with fetters, and defended by an enormous iron door, had a stern and striking effect. Other phrases returned now, like echoes.
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