Explore "The House of the Whispering Pines" by Anna Katharine Green on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
To have reared a towering scheme / Of happiness, and to behold it razed, / Were nothing: all men hope, and see their hopes / Frustrate, and grieve awhile, and hope anew; / But -- / "A Blot in the 'Scutcheon."
The moon rode high; but ominous clouds were rushing towards it -- clouds heavy with snow. I watched these clouds as I drove recklessly, desperately, over the winter roads. I had just missed the desire of my life, the one precious treasure which I coveted with my whole undisciplined heart, and not being what you call a man of self-restraint, I was chafed by my defeat far beyond the bounds I have usually set for myself.