ToC Mrs. "I haven't worn anything else in weeks. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. . Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. " "We shall expect you to-morrow," insinuated Mrs. “In it lies the secret poison he used to turn you into an Oracle. You’re all such good cooks. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry.
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