The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. Most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. Luckily, they were not easily discomposed. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen.
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