So is it truly in life. My childhood seems as near to me
now as it was when I was twenty--nearer, I sometimes
think; but the years of my early manhood have rushed by
like that ribbon and are half swallowed by oblivion.
This line of thought threw me back into heavier moods.
And yet, since now I banished the hardest of all thoughts
hard to bear, I could not help succumbing to the influence
of Nature's merry mood. I did so even more than I liked.
I remember that, while driving through the beautiful
natural park that masks the approach to the one-third-way
town from the south, I as much as reproached myself
because I allowed Nature to interfere with my grim purpose
of speed. Half intentionally I conjured up the vision of
an infinitely lonesome old age for myself, and again the
sudden palpitation in my veins nearly prompted me to send
my horses into a gallop. But instantly I checked myself.
Not yet, I thought. On that long stretch north, beyond
the bridge, there I was going to drive them at their
utmost speed. I was unstrung, I told myself; this was
mere sentimentalism; no emotional impulses were of any
value; careful planning only counted.
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