As if the
hands wouldn't tell the tale themselves. Why, Emily, if you and Hilda
were hidden, all but your hands, the people would know the Colonel's
lady from Judy O'Grady."
Emily smiled abstractedly, she was counting compresses. She stopped
long enough to ask, "Is Hilda still in town?"
"Yes. I saw her yesterday on the other side of the street. I didn't
speak, but some day when I get a good opportunity I am going to tell
her what I think of her."
But when the opportunity came she did not say all that she had meant to
say!
She went over one morning to her father's house to get some papers
which he had left in his desk. The house had been closed for weeks and
the hall, as she entered it, was cold with a chill that reached the
marrow of her bones--it was dim with the half-gloom of drawn curtains
and closed doors. Even the rose-colored drawing-room as she stood on
the threshold held no radiance--it had the stiff and frozen look of a
soulless body. Yet she remembered how it had throbbed and thrilled on
the night that Derry had come to her. The golden air had washed in
waves over her.
She shivered and went over to the window.
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