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We watched her for hours, and she showed no sign or gleam of recovery. Her sleep was deeper than either Sebastian's or Hilda's had been. She had taken a big dose, so as to secure immobility. The question now was, would she recover at all from it? Hour after hour we waited and watched; and not a sign of movement!
She was scarcely less tall than Hilda, and she possessed a sturdy, rounded figure which put Hilda's to shame. It was uncanny the precocity of the children of the poor! It was disturbing!
A more myopic perspective would not have produced a full rendering of truth. Reality in any sense was more than any conscious registering of it. It was more convoluted. Although perhaps no different than the jealous remarks of Hera to Zeus, Hilda's acrimonious tone seemed boringly uncelestial.
He was well acquainted with Hilda's favourite haunts, and soon found her, seated on a bank, with a very disconsolate look, which, however, vanished on his appearing. "Wherefore didst thou hasten away just as I began to speak, Hilda?" he said, somewhat reproachfully, as he sat down beside her. "Because I did not wish to hear details of the bloody work of which thou art so fond.
Jealousy had pulled her mouth down at the corners; deceit had given it a foolish smirk; spite had plowed an ugly frown in her brow; while she had tried so many arts to make her rich brown skin as delicately white as Hilda's, that it was changed to the tint of chrome yellow.
"I have neither your faith, dear Hilda, nor your perceptive faculty. Fie! what a blurred scrawl it is indeed!" By Hilda's help, however, Miriam pretty distinctly made out a winged figure with a drawn sword, and a dragon, or a demon, prostrate at his feet. "I am convinced," said Hilda in a low, reverential tone, "that Guido's own touches are on that ancient scrap of paper!
Thus, between two countries, we have none at all, or only that little space of either in which we finally lay down our discontented bones. It is wise, therefore, to come back betimes, or never. Before they quitted Rome, a bridal gift was laid on Hilda's table.
In his feverish moments, it had not seemed unlikely that his wife might be there, coming back to haunt, with her gentle presence, the familiar rooms. There was, indeed, her light step, the rustle of her silken garments . Half-asleep he had listened, then had opened his eyes to find the night-lamp burning, Hilda's book under it and Hilda gone! The minutes passed as still his ears were strained.
As the car stopped at Malcolm Lightener's door, sudden panic seized Bonbright. "I ought not to come here," he said, "after last night. Mrs. Lightener... your daughter." "I'll bet Hilda's worrying you more than her mother. Nonsense! They both got sense." Certainly Mrs. Lightener had. "Just got him out of the police station," her husband said as he led the uncomfortable Bonbright into her presence.
The depth of what was unusual in Hilda's relation with Alicia Livingstone perhaps it has been plain that they were not quite the ordinary feminine liens seems to me to be sounded in the tacit acceptance of Hilda's novitiate on its merits that fell between the two women. The full understanding of it was an abyss between them, across which they joined hands, looking elsewhere.
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