“You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. But what I want to get at is this. Could it be him you mean?" "No. . Clement's church. 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. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. ” She nodded in the affirmative. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. The man or woman who did something for nothing always excited his suspicions; they were playing some kind of a game. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. ” She said.
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