We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. "At a thought. You look very handsome. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. The same night he met Meddoes and Drummond together, the latter over from Paris on a week’s leave from the Embassy. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. He’s—He lives in a world of possibilities outside your imagination.
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