I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. 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. “Come on. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. ” And while he talked and watched her as he talked, she answered, and behind her listening watched and thought about him. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner. And nothing to tell her where to begin. She passed people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent Street from out these places.
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