The modern heroine
could still charm even after she had ceased to desire to. Neither in the
new fiction nor in the old was there a place for the unhappy woman who
desired to charm but could not; she remained what she had always been--a
tragic perversion of nature which romance and realism conspired to
ignore. Women in novels had revolted against life as passionately as
she--but one and all they had revolted in graceful attitudes and
with abundant braids of hair. A false front not only extinguished
sentiment--it put an end to rebellion.
"Miss Kesiah, dar's Marse Reuben in de hall en he sez he'd be moughty
glad ef'n you'd step down en speak a wud wid 'im."
"In a moment, Abednego. I must take off my things."
Withdrawing the short jet-headed pins from her bonnet with a hurried
movement, she stabbed them into the hard round pincushion on her bureau,
and after throwing a knitted cape over her shoulders, went down the wide
staircase to where Reuben awaited her in the hall. As she walked she
groped slightly and peered ahead of her with her nervous, short-sighted
gaze.
At the foot of the staircase, the old man was standing in a patient
attitude, resting upon his wooden leg, which was slightly in advance
of his sound one.
Pages:
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110