The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. ” Ann Veronica started from her reverie, sat up in her chair, became attentive. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. .
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