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Arnim, Elizabeth von, 1866-1941

"The Princess Priscilla's Fortnight"

"Why now this _is_ nice," said Robin, all smiles.
Priscilla did not move and did not offer to shake hands, so he stood
on the hearthrug and spread out his own to the blaze, looking down at
her with bright, audacious eyes. He thought he had not yet seen her so
beautiful. There was an extraordinary depth and mystery in her look,
he thought, as it rested for a moment on his face, and she had never
yet dropped her eyelashes as she now did when her eyes met his. We
know she was very hungry, and there was no strength in her at all.
Not only did her eyelashes drop, but her head as well, and her hands
hung helplessly, like drooping white flowers, one over each arm of the
chair.
"I came in to ask Mr. Neumann-Schultz if there's anything I can do for
you," said Robin.
"Did you? He lives next door."
"I know. I knocked there first, but he didn't answer so I thought he
must be here."
Priscilla said nothing. At any other time she would have snubbed Robin
and got rid of him. Now she merely sat and drooped.
"Has he gone out?"
"Yes."
Her voice was very low, hardly more than a whisper.


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