Explore "Sydney Cove" by J.H.M. Abbott on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
IT was nearing sunset when they reached the lakeside, and the wide bosom of the basin between the dark green hills was turned to amethyst and gold, in the splendors that shone from the western sky, above the long, mysterious ranges, reflecting themselves perfectly in the still waters.
A restless desire to push on possessed Patrick. To sit down by a camp-fire, to prepare food and eat it, to stretch out and sleep upon the grassy shore of this lovely sheet of water, seemed to him a wicked waste of time, that was all too precious. This would be her second night alone with that brutal ruffian, who, freed from any restraint imposed by the mere presence of other men and women, might do anything that came into the wicked animalism of his debased intelligence. He shivered as he thought of what might be happening even now--and loathed the necessity of halting for the night.