On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. He might go on as the devoted lover until he tired. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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