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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"A Spirit in Prison"


Yes.
She read on. Had Vere talent? Did her child possess what she had
longed for, and had been denied? She strove to read critically, but
she was too excited, too moved to do so. All necessary calm was gone.
She was painfully upset. The words moved before her eyes, running
upward in irregular lines that resembled creeping things, and she saw
rings of light, yellow in the middle and edged with pale blue.
She pushed away the sheets of paper, got up and went again to the
window. She must look at Vere once more, look at her with this new
knowledge, look at her critically, with a piercing scrutiny. And she
bent down as before, and moved a section of the blind, pushing it up.
There was no boat beneath her on the sea.
She dropped the blind sharply, and all the blood in her body seemed to
make a simultaneous movement away from the region of the heart.
Vere was perhaps already in the house, running lightly up to the room.
She would come in and find her mother there. She would guess what her
mother had been doing.


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