In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. This person was speedily followed by half a dozen others, some of whom carried flambeaux. His age was not far from fifty. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. “Besides, it is not so. Night and day have been alike to me. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels.
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