He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. They stopped talking, except to each other. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. She cried out with the pain of it.
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