“Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire. 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. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped. Her heart failed her and her resolution became water. Pity you aren’t under my command. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. His assistance came too late. For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. And all the talk of the Miniver people and the Widgett people seemed always to be like a ship in adverse weather on the lee shore of love. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. Mercifully, the Peters had moved to Rhode Island about six months after the tragedy.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 21-09-2024 04:21:33
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