There was no element in her position that could make it endurable, and
yet there was no escape. She had not enough spirit of enterprise left to
return home at once, but yielded herself with torpid insensibility to
whoever chose to make a suggestion. She wonderingly speculated as to how
she had ever been able to originate an idea herself.
The evening dragged its slow length along, and dragged Cornelia with it.
To be where she was, was insupportable; but to go back to the Parsonage
was worse still; and the thought of the solitary drive thither with the
overflowing Mr. Reynolds filled her with a nauseating pain of
anticipation.
It could not have been far from midnight when she awoke to a sense of
being alone and not far from the side-door into the yard. Her
partner--whoever he was--had gone to get her some ice-cream or a cup of
coffee. Cornelia did not wait for his return, but walked quickly and
unobserved to the door, which stood a few inches ajar, opened it, passed
through, and stood in the unconfined air. The keen intensity of the
tonic made her nostrils ache, and her uncovered bosom heave. She
unbuttoned one of her gloves, and, taking some snow in her hand, pressed
it to her warm temples, and then let it drop shivering into her breast.
Pages:
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342