There was nothing to be got out of the man. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a
thinly disguised bodice ripper where an
“empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective
suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical
romance novel. Her back had stiffened, and
her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but
now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive
and articulate and insistent. 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. "
"But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone. ‘I’ll make you an offer.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 06-07-2024 06:57:03