“Hainault, Celeste’s friend. “It isn’t anything to do with our times particularly. He had certain orders from which on no account was he to deviate. There are some papers I have to look through to-night—important papers. \"No, I think he just broke up with someone. Twenty-one, twenty-two. "Dawn Pearl!… come here!" She moved to the side of the bed. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. Decidedly this was imbecile. 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.
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