Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?
Oh, it’s delightful to have ambitions. I’m so glad I have such a lot. And there never seems to be any end to them – that’s the best of it. Just as soon as you attain to one ambition you see another one glittering higher up still. It does make life so interesting.
It was November – the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines. Anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and, as she said, let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul.
Most of the trouble in life comes from misunderstanding, I think,? said Anne.
You see,” she concluded miserably, “when I can call like that to him across space – I belong to him. He doesn’t love me – he never will – but I belong to him.