The hurricane had now reached its climax. That’s why I come to tell you. 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. No doubt there’s some little mistake. I don’t want to get old or to watch my kids get married or retire. I'd like to shake you until your bones rattled; but the bones of a Roundhead wouldn't rattle to any purpose. ‘Bête. Not enough of them to make a difference. ” She was silent, and in the gloom of the dimly lit apartment he could not see her face.
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