A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild's dwelling into this yard. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. Now, you and I can gossip at a gate, and Honi soit qui mal y pense. 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. She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber. A person of somewhat artificial graces and mannerisms, she was for once in her life perfectly natural.
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This video was uploaded to ineel.net on 11-07-2024 17:14:00
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