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Updated: June 22, 2025
"With malice towards none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and his orphans, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations." Read and reread this whole address.
With a lack of reserve characteristic of my mood, I described the joy of living, which, for the most part, then consisted in the joy of writing. And even now, when I reread my record, I feel that I cannot overstate the pleasure I found in surrendering myself completely to that controlling impulse. The excellence of my composition seemed to me beyond criticism.
He was too sick to talk when I saw him. You see, this is not addressed to him, but to his uncle, David Livingstone. David Livingstone is a brother of Henry Livingstone, who died some years ago at Dry River. This refers to a personal matter connected with the Livingstone estate." The sheriff took the letter and reread it. He was puzzled. "You're a good talker," he acknowledged grudgingly.
Following this account was the report of the reception to the convention of teachers at the Executive Mansion, which had been largely attended owing to the desire of many to see and meet the young heroine of the day. Saunders read and reread the article, in his excitement neglecting his breakfast and forgetting his morning cigar. "God bless her!" he chuckled. "She is a brick.
Maude had enclosed it without comment. This letter had not been written under duress, as most of his were. Matthew's letters he wrote faithfully once a week I kept in a little pile by themselves and sometimes reread them. I wondered whether it were because of the fact that I was his father though a most inadequate one that I thought them somewhat unusual.
She had read and reread his speech, and had steeled herself for "the inevitable hour," to this talk which would decide for ever their fate and future. Eglington entered the room smiling. He remembered the incident of the night before, when she came to his study and then hurriedly retreated.
Everything else was devised and bequeathed "to my nephew, the son of my sister, Claudius, privat-docent in the University of Heidelberg, Grand Duchy of Baden, Germany." And it appeared that the surplus, after deducting all legacies and debts, amounted to about one million and a half of dollars. Claudius carefully reread the papers without betraying the smallest emotion.
Medenham read and reread this harsh letter many times. Then, out of brooding chaos, leaped one fiery question where was Marigny? The gate which Cynthia's father had shut and bolted in his face did not frighten him.
I saw hideous and lonely old age, and approaching infirmities, and everything over and gone. And nobody near me! "My revolver is here, on the table. I am loading it . . . . Never reread your old letters!" And that is how many men come to kill themselves; and we search in vain to discover some great sorrow in their lives.
Sometimes as the panting train rushed east or west, its reminder of the world from which he had parted brought a bitter pang with it. He found but little occupation for his hands, and, apart from his memories, little for his mind. He read and reread his father's dying words until he knew them by rote, and could read them with shut eyes as he lay in his blanket in the wakeful hours of night.
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