Shakespeare's Christmas and Other Stories. Arthur Quiller-Couch
heavy footfall came down the steps to the landing-stage.
"A glorious night!"
The apprentice watched the river.
"A glorious night! A night to remember! Tell me, lad, have I made good my promises, or have I not?"
"They rise thrice before sinking, I have always heard," twittered the lad.
"What the devil art talking of? Here, take my cloak, if thou feelest the chill. The watermen here ply by shifts, and we shall hail a boat anon to take us over. Meanwhile, if thou hast eyes, boy, look on the river—see the masts there, below bridge, the sun touching them!—see the towers yonder, in the gold of it!
London, thou art the flower of cities all!
—Eh, lad?"
The sun's gold, drifted through the fog, touched the side of a small row-boat nearing the farther shore. Behind, and to right and left along Bankside, a few guitars yet tinkled. Across the tide came wafted the voices of London's Christmas bells.
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