People were passing in the street below. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. I’ve always wanted to look older. ” “Heavens!” the lady exclaimed.
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