The worst is over. I have seen him. We have been once more in the same room. A bow, a curtsy. I have heard his voice. And then, he's gone. He's not forgiven me. I've used him ill, deserted him, and disappointed. And worst is showing a feebleness of character in doing so, which his own decided, confident temper could not endure. Once there were no two hearts so open, no feelings so in harmony, but now we are strangers. Worse than strangers, for we never become aquainted. It is perpetual estrangement.
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