Excerpt from In the Distance: A Novel
The Cleft - a rugged gully breaking from the roadside, and tearing a long, descending seam in the wooded hill, about midway of the route from Willowbridge to Marle - was a silent place always. The hush that brooded over it seemed to be preparing the mind for events of importance. As if it were the primeval atmosphere, it was charged with a sense of profound beginnings.
Beginnings usually imply hope; but about this place there was something sad, austere, and minatory. A new life, a new scheme, a new passion, even in the midst of its hopefulness, carries with it a shadow of coming struggle and the pathos of possible failure. It was this shadow, this pathos, which seemed to pervade the spot, in the full leafy vigor of the June day to which we now look back.
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