"--So exactly like the face of old days," said Richard in his cordial voice, and taking my hand with the brotherly regard which nothing ever changed, "that I can't make pretences with her. I fluctuate a little; that's the truth. Sometimes I hope, my dear, and sometimes I--don't quite despair, but nearly. I get," said Richard, relinquishing my hand gently and walking across the room, "so tired!"

"-So exactly like the face of old days," said Richard cordially, "that I can't pretend with her. I fluctuate a little; that's the truth. Sometimes I hope, my dear, and sometimes I - don't quite despair, but nearly. I get so tired!"
