I can now give myself to God utterly; no human emotion will ever be shuttling in between. 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. It’s on the horse. 92 She did not notice the police car sitting near the Beck house until they were pulling into the driveway. “I was half hoping that I might be allowed to see you home. You don’t know about Mary because you live in Kent. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. "I told you that before," rejoined Wood, testily. But Spurlock was ever on guard, even when she fussed over his hair.
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