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Hope, Anthony, 1863-1933

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It was strange to think of that, to
see how what had seemed to be irrevocable and for ever, to stretch in
unfaltering perpetuity to the limits of old age, might so easily, by the
occasion of so small a matter as a heart not sound, turn out to be a
passing thing, and there come to her again freedom, choice, a life to be
re-made. If that happened, how would she feel? At the new-learnt chance
of that happening, how did she feel? Very strange, very bewildered, very
upset; that was her answer. Such a thing--Quisante's death she
meant--would mean so much, change so much, take away so much--and might
give so much. Her thoughts flew off to the new life that she might live
then, to the new freedom from embarrassments, from fears and from
disgusts, to a new love which it might be hers to gain and to enjoy.
People said that it was always impossible to go back--_vestigia nulla_.
But that event would open to her a sort of going back, such a return to
her old life and her surroundings as might some day make the time she
had spent with Quisante and its experiences seem but an episode, studding
the belt of long days with one strange bizarre ornament.


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