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. Sheila was finishing her laughter as Lucy brought an elbow down on the back of her head, expertly snapping the vertebra that connected Sheila’s head to her shoulders. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. Groups of boys took to ogling her as she walked frenetically from class to class. You've caught the colour and the life. You don’t know the thoughts we have; the things we can do and say. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. But, perhaps Mr.
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