Miss Jenkyns Wore A Cravat, And A

There Is Always A Pleasure In Unravelling A Mystery, In Catching At The Gossamer Clue Which Will Guide To Certainty.

He Could Not Forget The Touch Of Her Arms Around His Neck, Impatiently Felt As It Had Been At The Time; But Now The Recollection Of Her Clinging Defence Of Him, Seemed To Thrill Him Through And Through,—to Melt Away Every Resolution, All Power Of Self-control, As If It Were Wax Before A Fire.

What Could He Mean By Speaking So, As If I Were Always Thinking That He Cared For Me, When I Know He Does Not; He Cannot. ... But I Won't Care For Him. I Surely Am Mistress Enough Of Myself To Control This Wild, Strange, Miserable Feeling

I Dare Not Hope. I Never Was Fainthearted Before; But I Cannot Believe Such A Creature Cares For Me.

We Do Not Look For Reason For Logic In The Passionate Entreaties Of Those Who Are Sick Unto Death; We Are Stung With The Recollection Of A Thousand Slighted Opportunities Of Fulfilling The Wishes Of Those Who Will Soon Pass Away From Among Us: And Do They Ask Us For The Future Happiness Of Our Lives, We Lay It At Their Feet, And Will It Away From Us.