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Updated: May 22, 2025
A world with the immensity, the profundity, the darkness of the brooding sea; where the spirit of a woman moves, troubling the waters; for Charlotte Brontë has before her the stupendous vision of the world as it was, as it yet is, and as it is to be. That world, as it existed from eighteen-twelve to Charlotte's own time, eighteen-fifty, was not a place for a woman with a brain and a soul.
This in a tone that made Ralph tremble. "Your father was a miserable Britisher. I'd fit red-coats, in the war of eighteen-twelve, and lost my leg by one of 'em stickin' his dog-on'd bagonet right through it, that night at Lundy's Lane; but my messmate killed him though which is a satisfaction to think on. And I didn't like your father 'cause he was a Britisher.
They don't mean anything to anyone else, and certainly they have ceased to mean anything to me. But when I came to Anthony Colby the eighteen-twelve man, you know, the one who has always been my hero it went pretty hard. I felt as if I were burning my own personality. As a matter of fact, in the last couple of hours I've been born over again." Terry paused.
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