Yet when her
mind, or her tormented heart, was surely on the verge of its
statement, was--or seemed to be--about to say to her, "Perhaps it is--
that!" or "It is--that!" something within her, housed deep down in
her, refused to listen, refused to hear, revolted from--what it did
not acknowledge the existence of.
Paradox alone could hint the condition of her mind just then. She was
in the thrall of fear, but, had she been questioned, would not have
allowed that she was afraid.
Afterwards she never rightly knew what was the truth of her during
this period of her life.
There was to be a conflict between her and Gaspare.
She came from the window, took a bath, and dressed. When she had
finished she looked in the glass. Her face was calm, but set and grim.
She had not known she could look like that. She hated her face, her
expression, and she came away from the glass feeling almost afraid of
herself.
At breakfast she and Vere always met. The table was laid out-of-doors
in the little garden or on the terrace if the weather was fine, in the
dining-room if it was bad.
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