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No man who has not seen can guess how the zeal in them triumphs over sickness, sorrow, the ordinary private life of us! There was forwarded to Audley, from Lansmere Park, Nora's last letter. The postman had left it there an hour or two after he himself had gone. The wedding-ring fell on the ground, and rolled under his feet.
"I told her to take it up to her own room, but she's always wanting to show it to her friends." "Nora's trophy?" Sir Henry repeated. "Why, it's nothing but an ordinary man's hat." "Nevertheless, it's a very travelled one, sir," Harrison pointed out. "Miss Nora picked it up on Dutchman's Common, the morning after the observation car was found there." Sir Henry held out the hat.
He contrived, by means of his various agents, to circulate through Nora's neighbourhood the very slanders at which he had hinted. He contrived that she should be insulted when she went abroad, outraged at home by the sneers of her own servant, and tremble with shame at her own shadow upon her abandoned bridal hearth. Just in the midst of this intolerable anguish, Levy reappeared.
Those were Nora's lips, so beautiful in form, color, and expression; Nora's splendid eyes, that blazed with indignation, or melted with pity, or smiled with humor; Nora's magnificent breadth of brow, spanning from temple to temple.
Crowding them hastily into the bottom of the machine, she slipped on her coat, made ready her runabout and drove down the street like the wind, not lessening her speed until she reached the drive at "Heartsease." The young people passed a merry hour at Nora's, indulging in one of their old-time frolics, that only lacked Tom Gray's presence to make the original octette complete.
Her situation was dramatic in the ordinary sense of the word, very much as Nora's situation is dramatic when she knows that Krogstad's letter is in Helmer's hands. But in Chains there is not even this simple form of excitement and suspense.
Then she pitied that beautiful, pale woman who was weeping so violently. And she arose and poured out the last of poor Nora's bottle of wine and brought it to her, saying: "Drink this, my lady, and try and compose yourself."
'And ought to be whipped for his impudence, said the Captain; 'but never fear, Miss Brady, I shall not touch him; your FAVOURITE is safe from me. So saying, he stooped down and picked up the bunch of ribands which had fallen at Nora's feet, and handing it to her, said in a sarcastic tone, 'When ladies make presents to gentlemen, it is time for OTHER gentlemen to retire.
A brief silence had fallen upon the little group at one end of the veranda, broken only by Nora's and Hippy's argumentative voices. "Because both the someones are too busy to sing," laughed Jessica, casting a significant glance toward the end of the veranda. "Hippy, Nora," called David, "come over here and sing." "'Sing, sing, what shall I sing?" chanted Hippy.
But was he going to begin the story over again? He picked up a book, but did not read many sentences before he was once more asking himself if she had gone down to the lake, and if it were her spell that kept him in Garranard. 'The wretchedness of it all, he cried, and fell to thinking that Nora's spirit haunted the lake, and that his punishment was to be kept a prisoner always.
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