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James, Henry

"The Portrait Of A Lady"

She had thought it so large,
so enlightened, so perfectly that of an honest man and a gentleman.
Hadn't he assured her that he had no superstitions, no dull
limitations, no prejudices that had lost their freshness? Hadn't he
all the appearance of a man living in the open air of the world,
indifferent to small considerations, caring only for truth and
knowledge and believing that two intelligent people ought to look
for them together and, whether they found them or not, find at least
some happiness in the search? He had told her he loved the
conventional; but there was a sense in which this seemed a noble
declaration. In that sense, that of the love of harmony and order
and decency and of all the stately offices of life, she went with
him freely, and his warning had contained nothing ominous. But when,
as the months had elapsed, she had followed him further and he had led
her into the mansion of his own habitation, then, then she had seen
where she really was.
She could live it over again, the incredulous terror with which
she had taken the measure of her dwelling. Between those four walls
she had lived ever since; they were to surround her for the rest of
her life.


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