“I don’t know. 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. Quickly he compared the Hs. The tables were then cleared. “It’s—private. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. All this was the work of a minute. We simply can’t get away. Blank it was, except for a gate near the bridgehead. “Please not now. They conversed, or more or less she interviewed him. “To be my eternal love. Later, at the bottom of that envelope I found a letter. This obstacle, which appeared to preclude the possibility of egress in that quarter, was speedily got rid of. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask.
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