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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"Weir of Hermiston"


And she looked forward over a waste of hours, and saw herself go on to
rage, and tremble, and be softened, and rage again, until the day came
and the labours of the day must be renewed.
Suddenly she heard feet on the stairs - his feet, and soon after the
sound of a window-sash flung open. She sat up with her heart beating.
He had gone to his room alone, and he had not gone to bed. She might
again have one of her night cracks; and at the entrancing prospect, a
change came over her mind; with the approach of this hope of pleasure,
all the baser metal became immediately obliterated from her thoughts.
She rose, all woman, and all the best of woman, tender, pitiful, hating
the wrong, loyal to her own sex - and all the weakest of that dear
miscellany, nourishing, cherishing next her soft heart, voicelessly
flattering, hopes that she would have died sooner than have
acknowledged. She tore off her nightcap, and her hair fell about her
shoulders in profusion. Undying coquetry awoke. By the faint light of
her nocturnal rush, she stood before the looking-glass, carried her
shapely arms above her head, and gathered up the treasures of her
tresses.


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