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88 presence. If I ever loved, I would almost wish to be forgotten during the hurry of business and the cares of day; but let the beloved think of me in the soft and dark silence of a starry midnight: if he have one spiritual or tender thought in his nature, it will be all love's and mine. Mine! ah, ought I to wish it mine? But I hate the word "ought"—it always implies something dull, cold, and commonplace. The "ought nots" of life are its pleasantest things.

Alas! for Lady Marchmont, when principle became matter of persiflage, and the heart turned away from its own truth.