Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. But—It’s just this: who was to be hurt?” “I wish no one had to be hurt,” said Ann Veronica. She turned with an effort. ” Ann Veronica did. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. He gave Valade the go-ahead and they’ve gone off to visit him.
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