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“It’s your birthday today, May Day. She wanted to go to Cornell University to study Anthropology, that was her 183 dream. Bu I can speak to that point. I am going to ask him to finish it. And now she comprehended that the man (she had never known him by any name) knew she had surprised the look and had not resented it. Every eye was fixed upon the prisoner. 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. ‘I recall my father speaking of you as a Remenham. It is not the woman who speaks there.
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