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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. ToC After escaping from the turner's house, Jack Sheppard skirted St. 7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1. Perhaps that other boy who visited you backstage at the concert. " And he looked at the moment as if he had lost all desire to know it. I cannot protect you. His lips were tight drawn.
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