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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
19
As
she
sat
here
in
the
bay-window
of
her
room,
she
was
not
reviewing
the
splendid
pageant
of
her
past.
She
was
a
young
person
whose
reveries
never
were
in
retrospect.
For
her
the
past
was
no
treasury
of
distinct
memories,
all
hoarded
and
classified,
some
brighter
than
others
and
more
highly
valued.
All
memories
were
for
her
but
as
the
motes
in
one
fused
radiance
that
followed
her
and
made
more
luminous
the
pathway
of
her
future.
She
was
always
looking
forward.
She
was
looking
forward
now--that
shade
of
ennui
had
passed
from
her
face--to
the
week
she
was
to
spend
in
Oxford.
A
new
city
was
a
new
toy
to
her,
and--for
it
was
youth’s
homage
that
she
loved
best--this
city
of
youths
was
a
toy
after
her
own
heart.
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