First I heard the voices of the Town, then at the edges of my Vision, Blurs appear’d, and Movement, which went suddenly a-whirl, streaking in to surround me, as in the mesh of prolong’d Faces, only hers stood firm.— And when I join’d her again, before I could think of what to say, she kiss’d me and declar’d,— ‘Somebody got in late last night.’ “The only proof I had that ’twas not a Dream was the Bite I receiv’d whilst in my Noctambulation of the City.— “This Life,” runs the moral he is able by now to draw for Dixon, “is like the eleven days,— a finite Period at whose end, she and I, having
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