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Updated: June 25, 2025
Happiness how indeed could one find happiness among such buried-alive and solitary ones! Must I yet seek the last happiness on the Happy Isles, and far away among forgotten seas? But all is alike, nothing is worth while, no seeking is of service, there are no longer any Happy Isles!"
"It's all this place, this infernal, buried-alive place. The girls ought to be moving about and seeing people. How can they? Very well. My mind's made up. There's my brother Tom in India. He could have one of the girls. There's your sister Mrs. Pounce in London. She's Rosalie's godmother. What's she ever done for Rosalie? Very well. My mind's made up.
"Mighty hasty things." She turned, then, plunging her hands into the great suds of feather bed, the whole thrust of her body toward him. "'Hasty'! Is eight years hasty? Is eight years of buried-alive hasty? I'm goin', John Burkhardt; this time I'm goin' sure sure as my name is Hanna Long." "Goin' where, Hanna?" "Goin' where each day ain't like a clod of mud on my coffin.
I've inherited property, and only yesterday I was taken into one of the best law firms in the city. I'll prove all that to you and your aunts to-morrow. Aline, unspeakable treasure, you shall not live the buried-alive life in which you are trying to believe yourself rightly placed and happy, my saint! My adored saint!" "Yes, I must. What you ask is impossible."
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