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A Lady of Quality | Frances Hodgson Burnett | |
My Lady Dunstanwolde sits late alone and writes |
Page 3 of 4 |
Mistress Anne sat in a large chair, huddled into a small heap, and looking colourless and shrunken. As she heard bolts being shot and bars put up for the closing of the house, she knew that her own dismissal was at hand. Doors were shut below stairs, and when all was done the silence of night reigned as it does in all households when those who work have gone to rest. 'Twas a common thing enough, and yet this night there was one woman who felt the stillness so deep that it made her breathing seem a sound too loud. "Go to bed, Anne," she said. "You have stayed up too long." Anne arose from her chair and drew near to her. "Sister," said she, as she had said before, "let me stay." She was a poor weak creature, and so she looked with her pale insignificant face and dull eyes, a wisp of loose hair lying damp on her forehead. She seemed indeed too weak a thing to stand even for a moment in the way of what must be done this night, and 'twas almost irritating to be stopped by her. "Nay," said my Lady Dunstanwolde, her beautiful brow knitting as she looked at her. "Go to your chamber, Anne, and to sleep. I must do my work, and finish to-night what I have begun." "But--but--" Anne stammered, dominated again, and made afraid, as she ever was, by this strong nature, "in this work you must finish-- is there not something I could do to--aid you--even in some small and poor way. Is there--naught?" "Naught," answered Clorinda, her form drawn to its great full height, her lustrous eyes darkening. "What should there be that you could understand?" |
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A Lady of Quality Frances Hodgson Burnett |
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