“Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. Gerald caught the look and slipped the weapon into his pocket. Certainly I would not murder monsieur le major, even that he has made a threat to beat me. 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. His hand went with an almost instinctive inquiry to his jawbone again. Give him his medicine every half hour. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes.
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