From Her Scant State.
your wings my sails preliminary hovering hush of the drums the consciousness (in) question also, touch faith in absent things words well-muffed smoothing her hair a voluntary laugh attached to a spot in the carpet to get by insisting pin-pricks what shall I gain? hungry human being turn inside out one letter what is one letter? write fifty? describe all women please vital letter curious of the thick detail indulged in visions describe a literary woman: would dine at a coffee-house frequent the museum find out where unveiled burst into improper her letter touched her occupied her eyes consolation, allow me elation I won't return to the subject again energetically, systematically look at a paper of notes "keep up the kindness and keep down the meaning" I'm drifting to my next letter I'll swallow my pen
At a table near the window a volume was opened at a page I forgot. Immaculate, finely-tinted. Looking through a magnifying glass--to see a full consciousness, an irritable man, she still wished to justify herself. Her worst thought a refinement of egotism like the sign of the cross or the flag of one's country. "Where's our union?" He took up one of his little brushes again in the art of eliciting weakness.
She had come--as chair to fire. Taken her place on a cushion looking up--knees, hands, lips, mind, tongue--it was difficult to interrogate firelight. Without appearing to suggest--pretty dress (dimly shining), her silence, her spoken, her liberty, her murmur. "It's difficult for me." "Because you love me." "A lady can say." "You then pay." Ah, yes.
There was less of her than the shadow of a field.
In recognition of her services to literature, they should come in search of her--drawn back behind one of the great trees. Hands rather stiffly, thin little glance. About her. Which death, reasons, fortune, motive? Her face was still here, her face was hardly. Literally, no one else. Words want perception's defect--a warmer autumn, a good garden, a half bad country. But sense upsets effect. As soon as? He left the house? Isabel listens between the lines: "sorry for," "great hope," "vanish into." Obliged to smile and twirl in exact proportion.