She started, though there was no noise to alarm her.
"One of us may die. I may be the one."
She fell into deep thought, roused herself after a while, and, opening
the door, called to Mrs. Wragge to come and speak to her.
"You were right in thinking I should fatigue myself," she said. "My walk
has been a little too much for me. I feel tired, and I am going to bed.
Good-night." She kissed Mrs. Wragge and softly closed the door again.
After a few turns backward and forward in the room, she abruptly opened
her writing-case and began a letter to her sister. The letter grew and
grew under her hands; she filled sheet after sheet of note-paper. Her
heart was full of her subject: it was her own story addressed to Norah.
She shed no tears; she was composed to a quiet sadness. Her pen ran
smoothly on. After writing for more than two hours, she left off while
the letter was still unfinished. There was no signature attached to
it--there was a blank space reserved, to be filled up at some other
time. After putting away the case, with the sheets of writing secured
inside it, she walked to the window for air, and stood there looking
out.
The moon was waning over the sea.
Pages:
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807