WRITING was not the vocation I had marked out for myself. Thoughts of it had sometimes flitted across my mind as summertinted clouds will sometimes flit unduly across a winter sky, but had never gathered themselves up into a definite resolution, or ev...
WRITING was not the vocation I had marked out for myself. Thoughts of it had sometimes flitted across my mind as summertinted clouds will sometimes flit unduly across a winter sky, but had never gathered themselves up into a definite resolution, or even gained substance enough to form the ghost of an aspiration.