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IN RUINS.
CHAPTER I.
IT IS THROUGH EXCESS OF GREATNESS THAT MAN REACHES EXCESS OF
MISERY.
As midnight tolled from St. Paul's, a man who had just crossed London
Bridge struck into the lanes of Southwark. There were no lamps lighted,
it being at that time the custom in London, as in Paris, to extinguish
the public lamps at eleven o'clock--that is, to put them out just as
they became necessary. The streets were dark and deserted. When the
lamps are out men stay in. He whom we speak of advanced with hurried
strides. He was strangely dressed for walking at such an hour. He wore a
coat of embroidered silk, a sword by his side, a hat with white plumes,
and no cloak. The watchmen, as they saw him pass, said, "It is a lord
walking for a wager," and they moved out of his way with the respect due
to a lord and to a better.
The man was Gwynplaine. He was making his escape. Where was he? He did
not know. We have said that the soul has its cyclones--fearful
whirlwinds, in which heaven, the sea, day, night, life, death, are all
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