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Kirill Ustinov
Kirill Ustinov

Shakespeare's Spy Downloads Torrent 'LINK'



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Shakespeare's Spy downloads torrent



The men obeyed, and the boat was backed off the whale just in time to escape the blow of its tremendous flukes as it dived into the sea, the blue depths of which were instantly dyed red with the blood that flowed in torrents from the wound.


Up it came again, foaming, breaching, and plunging from wave to wave, flinging torrents of blood and spray into the air. At one moment he reared his blunt gigantic head high above the sea; the next he buried his vast and quivering carcase deep in the gory brine, carrying down with him a perfect whirlpool of red foam. Then he rose again and made straight for the boat. Had he known his own power, he might have soon terminated the battle, and come off the victor, but fortunately he did not. Tim Rokens received his blunt nose on the point of his lance, and drove him back with mingled fury and terror. Another advance was made, and a successful lance-thrust delivered.


Bude also volunteered, and in a few minutes, having drunk a glassof wine and eaten a crust of bread, they and Mr. Macrae were hurryingtowards the cove. The storm was passing; by the time when theyreached p. 352the sea-sidethere were rifts of clear light in the sky above them. They hadwalked rapidly and silently, the swollen stream roaring beneath them. It had rained torrents in the hills. There was nothing to be said,but the mind of each man was busy with the gloomiest conjectures. These had to be far-fetched, for in a country so thinly peopled, andso honest and friendly, within a couple of miles at most from home,on a Sunday evening, what conceivable harm could befall a man and amaid?


Bergan was silent. Though not without some touchof family pride, derived from his mother, he had neverthelessbeen taught to believe all upright labor honorable, tohold that life was ennobled from within, by its motive andaim, rather than from without, by its place and form. Hecould not help suspecting, therefore, that his host,deliberately leading the narrow life of an overseer of slaves, onhis ancestral estate, was in reality a more degenerate sonof his house than the relative whom he so bitterlycontemned. Yet he foresaw that any attempt to defendGodfrey Bergan would but result in bringing down upon himselfa torrent of fierce, half-drunken vituperation. Seasonedvessel though he were, the Major's repeated draughts ofbrandy, very little diluted, had not been without effect, influshing his face, and inflaming his habitually irritabletemper. His present mood would ill brook contradiction.


Amidst the numberless painful ideas pressing on Constance, that of her own singular situation now first occurred in its true colours. She viewed it [Page 78] as a dream. Immured in the chateau, the single sentiment of captivity and sorrow, absorbing every other, had formed an imaginary connexion between herself and the imprisoned Valmont. But now, that various objects and feelings divided her attention, she had some difficulty to recollect the force of her former impressions. Perhaps a latent sense of regret, on reflecting that by means of the marquis she had added a momentary pang to those already felt by her lover, contributed to estrange her from the former. But Valmont was not born to be the object of disgust. A natural eloquence, a low and pleasant voice, a sedateness of manner that had all the effect of reason with the wildness of fancy, soon conciliated the interest she was beginning to renounce. Hard indeed must have been the heart that could have resisted him! The weakness attending so painful an exertion as that of walking, had brought on a temporary inanity, rather than slumber, from which, as he slowly recovered, it was nevertheless visible he had derived refreshment. He began now to dwell upon events, which, while the torrents rushed by him, he had been unable to comprehend. There was something so affecting in his imperfect attempts at recollection, in his disjointed efforts to fix ideas, which, like shadows upon a wall, wavered and played before the yet unsteady lamp of reason, [Page 79] that Constance insensibly directed her efforts to the same point. Nor were they unsuccessful. All the objects of creation, as they began again to be visible to his eyes, resumed their natural influence over his heart. The long-forgotten image of his home, his native domain, to which Constance had in general terms assured him their journey was directed, kindled once more that secret, and inexplicable flame, which ever burns through the veins when we touch the circle with which our affections incorporate us.


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