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He whispered in her ear. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. ” “No, I wanted to talk to you, Lucy, to invite you to a dinner party. ” Two young men on their way down the room came suddenly to a standstill before Anna. She would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. 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 major will not call. A drunken idea, Ah Cum had called it.
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