On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. The gong will go at seven-thirty. Forgive me if a certain warmth creeps into my words! The Park is green and gray to-day, but I am glowing pink and gold. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. About her, as she had gone day by day to and from the Tredgold College, she had seen and not seen many an incidental aspect of those sides of life about which girls are expected to know nothing, aspects that were extraordinarily relevant to her own position and outlook on the world, and yet by convention ineffably remote. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 11-08-2024 07:37:04
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