At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. Forgive me?” She pleaded. Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. ” “You disappoint me,” she said wearily. For the rest, she derived her ideas of the married state from the observed behavior of married women, which impressed her in Morningside Park as being tied and dull and inelastic in comparison with the life of the young, and from a remarkably various reading among books. ’ ‘Ah, that is good,’ sighed the lady. “Well!” she declared good-humouredly.
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