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Blackwood, Algernon, 1869-1951

"The Extra Day"

On the contrary, she hugged herself,
making sounds of pleasurable anticipation in her throat that lay
plunged among depths of soothing pillows.
It seems, then, that the entire household, the important portion of
it, at any rate, had been duly notified that something unusual was
afoot, and that the dawn of the day just breaking through a ghostly
sky was distinctly out of the ordinary. The birds, always the first to
wake, and provided with the most sensitive apparatus for recording
changes, had caught the mysterious whisper from the fading night; they
had instantly communicated it to the best of their ability to their
established friends. The robin, the swallows, and the up-and-under
bird, having accomplished their purpose, disappeared from view in
order to attend to breakfast and the arrangement of their own
subsequent adventures. Earth, air, and water had delivered messages.
The news had been flashed. Those who deserved it had been warned. The
day could now begin.
Maria, alone, meanwhile, slept on soundly, secure in that stodgy
immobility that takes no risks. Oblivious, apparently, of all secret
warnings of excitement or alarm, she lay in a tight round ball,
inactive, undisturbed.


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