She knew that this silent, motionless portal opened into the
street; if the sidelights had not been filled with green paper she
might have looked out upon the little brown stoop and the well-worn
brick pavement. But she had no wish to look out, for this would have
interfered with her theory that there was a strange, unseen place on
the other side- a place which became to the child's imagination,
according to its different moods, a region of delight of terror.
It was in the "office" still that Isabel was sitting on that
melancholy afternoon of early spring which I have just mentioned. At
this time she might have had the whole house to choose from, and the
room she had selected was the most depressed of its scenes. She had
never opened the bolted door nor removed the green paper (renewed by
other hands) from its sidelights; she had never assured herself that
the vulgar street lay beyond. A crude, cold rain fell heavily; the
spring-time was indeed an appeal- and it seemed a cynical, insincere
appeal- to patience. Isabel, however, gave as little heed as
possible to cosmic treacheries; she kept her eyes on her book and
tried to fix her mind.
Pages:
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47