How could she hope
again that St John would be good to her? Was it not to be expected
that the black-flowing river over which she understood him to preside
would become her enemy and would swallow her up--as Lotta Luxa had
predicted? Before she returned home, when she was quite sure that Anton
Trendellsohn had already passed over, she went down upon the bridge,
and far enough along the causeway to find herself over the river, and
there, crouching down, she looked at the rapid-running silent black
stream beneath her. The waters were very silent and very black, but
she could still see or feel that they were running rapidly. And they
were cold, too. She herself at the present moment was very cold. She
shuddered as she looked down, pressing her face against the stone-work,
with her two hands resting on two of the pillars of the parapet. It
would be very terrible. She did not think that she much cared for
death. The world had been so hard to her, and was growing so much
harder, that it would be a good thing to get away from it.
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