Death, Only, Renders Hope Futile.

I Do Not Think That I Am Ever Overconfident. I Am Merely Wholly Confident, And I Maintain That There Is All The Difference In The World There.

It Must Be That I Am Dreaming, And That I Shall Awaken In A Moment To See That Awful Knife Descending Toward My Heart- Kiss Me, Dear, Just Once Before I Lose My Dream Forever." -jane-

I Had This Story From One Who Had No Business To Tell It To Me, Or To Any Other. I May Credit The Seductive Influence Of An Old Vintage Upon The Narrator For The Beginning Of It, And My Own Skeptical Incredulity During The Days That Followed For The Balance Of The Strange Tale.

We Are, All Of Us, Creatures Of Habit, And When The Seeeming Necessity For Schooling Ourselves In New Ways Ceases To Exist, We Fall Naturally And Easily Into The Manner And Customs Which Long Usage Has Implanted Ineradicably Within Us.

In That Little Party There Was Not One Who Would Desert Another; Yet We Were Of Different Countries, Different Colours, Different Races, Different Religions--and One Of Us Was Of A Different World.