"A man is lucky if he is the first love of a woman. A woman is lucky if she is the last love of a man."
"The white face of the winter day came sluggishly on, veiled in a frosty mist; and the shadowy ships in the river slowly changed to black substances; and the sun, blood-red on the eastern marshes behind dark masts and yards, seemed filled with the ruins of a forest it had set on fire."
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Source: Charles Dickens (2016). “Our Mutual Friend”, p.74, Xist Publishing
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