It isn’t as though I haven’t done well. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. I thought that Hill was dead, but I was frightened, and I wanted to get away from Paris. He yielded his place and struck instead with his tongue. There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked. ’ ‘Pray don’t,’ begged Mrs Sindlesham, one eye on the general’s embattled features. We are in love. I have given up painting. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. 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. Martha said to me that it must come to the bibliothéque. That added to his puzzle.
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