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The Scarlet Letter

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“O Hester!” cried Arthur Dimmesdale, in whose eyes a fitful light, kindled by her enthusiasm, flashed up and died away, “thou tellest of running a race to a man whose knees are tottering beneath him! I must die here. There is not the strength or courage left me to venture into the wide, strange, difficult world, alone!” “Oh, Hester,” cried Arthur Dimmesdale. Her enthusiasm sparked a flickering light in his eyes: It flashed up and died away. “You talk of running a race to a man whose knees are wobbling beneath him! I must die here! I do not have the strength or the courage to venture into the wide, strange, difficult world alone!”
It was the last expression of the despondency of a broken spirit. He lacked energy to grasp the better fortune that seemed within his reach. It was the last expression of the despair of a broken spirit. He lacked the energy to grab onto the better fortune that seemed within his reach.
He repeated the word. He repeated the words:
“Alone, Hester!” “Alone, Hester!”
“Thou shalt not go alone!” answered she, in a deep whisper. “You will not go alone!” she answered, in a deep whisper.
Then, all was spoken! And when she’d said that, she’d said everything there was to say.

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