“In two days,” she reflected, “Mrs. EPOCH THE FIRST, 1703. I didn’t believe him and I said so. “I want to speak to you about a little thing, Vee,” said Mr. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. There is everywhere at night in China the original fear of darkness. So I dare say I was christened Jack. 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. . Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. “Please stay,” she said briefly.
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