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. “You are developing far too retentive a memory for praises,” said Ann Veronica. You don’t have to live forever to understand that. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. ’ She flounced back to stare out of the window again. “Stop it!.
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This video was uploaded to tipsonbuyingacar.com on 19-09-2024 04:51:45
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