The Ford Was Not Ong in a Minute or Two

i struggled out on the farther shore and numidia with a cry of pleasure and trustfulness came to my dripping arms. The british hot on the track were shouting to one another in the dark pursuit. So the little maid was picked up securely. And with her in my left arm, upon my hip, her warm wrists about my neck, and my other hand on the guide rope, we went back to the stream again by the sacred fane of vesta. It ran stronger than a mill sluice, and tugged and worried at my limbs like the fingers of a fury. I felt the pebbly gravel sifting and rolling beneath my feet, and the strong lift