The clouds rolled forth from the lips of each, and curled over their heads, and twined in voluminous folds, and gathered over them in dark, impenetrable masses.

Even so rested the clouds of doubt, of darkness, and of gloom over the soul of each, and those which were visible to the eye seemed to typify, symbolize, characterize, and body forth the darker clouds that overshadowed the mind.
"_I'm married_!" repeated Dacres, who now seemed to have become like Poe's raven, and all his words one melancholy burden bore.
"You were not married when I was last with you ?" said Hawbury at last, in the tone of one who was recovering from a fainting fit.
"Yes, I was." "Not in South America ?" "Yes, in South America." "Married ?" "Yes, married." "By Jove!" "Yes; and what's more, I've been married for ten years." "Ten years! Good Lord!" "It's true." "Why, how old could you have been when you got married ?" "A miserable, ignorant, inexperienced dolt, idiot, and brat of a boy." "By Jove!" "Well, the secret's out; and now, if you care to hear, I will tell you all about it." "I'm dying to hear, dear boy; so go on." And at this Scone Dacres began his story..