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 am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms. Even Ah Cum had resumed his Oriental shell of reserve. Traci was the most grateful, because he stopped his sexual advances. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort. It would not have been for her an anomaly to read a love story in which there were no kisses. That’s how it takes me.
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