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why dont you throw that awful staring thing away

publish 2022-05-20,browse 15
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why dont you throw that awful staring thing away? she asked, contemplating the steamer with a morbid fascination; and sweep away the old papers, and have a few little watercolours hung up, and put a vase of flowers on your desk.i wish i had the control of the office for a week.i wish you had, he said gallantly.i cant find time to think of those things.i am sure you are brightening it up already.the little blush on her cheek deepened.compliment was unwonted with him; and, indeed, he spoke as he felt.the sight of her seated so strangely and unexpectedly in his own humdrum sanctum, the imaginary picture of her beautifying it and evolving harmony out of the chaos with artistic touches of her dainty hands, filled him with pleasant, tender thoughts such as he had scarce known before.the commonplace editorial chair seemed to have undergone consecration and poetic transformation.surely the sunshine that streamed through the dusty window would for ever rest on it henceforwards.and yet the whole thing appeared fantastic and unreal.i hope you are speaking the truth, replied esther, with a little laugh.you need brightening, you old dryasdust philanthropist, sitting poring over stupid manuscripts when you ought to be in the country enjoying the sunshine.she spoke in airy accents, with an undercurrent of astonishment at her attack of high spirits on an occasion she had designed to be harrowing.why, i havent _looked_ at your manuscript yet, he retorted gaily, but as he spoke there flashed upon him a delectable vision of blue sea and waving pines with one fair woodnymph flitting through the trees, luring him on from this musty cell of neverending work to unknown ecstasies of youth and joyousness.the leafy avenues were bathed in sacred sunlight, and a low magic music thrilled through the quiet air.it was but the dream of a secondthe dingy walls closed round him again; the great ugly steamer, that never went anywhere, sailed on.but the woodnymph did not vanish; the sunbeam was still on the editorial chair, lighting up the little face with a celestial halo.and when she spoke again it was as if the music that thrilled the visionary glades was a reality, too.its all very well, your treating reproof as a jest, she said more gravely.cant you see that its false economy to risk a breakdown, even if you use yourself purely for others? youre looking far from well.you are overtaxing human strength.come now, admit my sermon is just.remember, i speak not as a pharisee, but as one who made the mistake herselfa fellowsinner.she turned her dark eyes reproachfully upon him.iidont sleep very well, he admitted, but otherwise i assure you i feel all right.it was the second time she had manifested concern for his health.the blood coursed deliciously in his veins; a thrill ran through his whole form.the gentle, anxious face seemed to grow angelic.could she really care if his health gave way? again he felt a rush of selfpity that filled his eyes with tears.he was grateful to her for sharing his sense of the empty cheerlessness of his existence.he wondered why it had seemed so full and cheery just before.and you used to sleep so well, said esther slyly, remembering addies domestic revelations.my stupid manuscript should come in useful.oh, forgive my stupid joke! he said remorsefully.forgive mine! she answered.sleeplessness is too terrible to joke about.again i speak as one who knows.oh, im sorry to hear that! he said, his egoistic tenderness instantly transformed to compassionate solicitude.never mind mei am a woman and can take care of myself.why dont you go over to norway and join mr.graham? thats quite out of the question, he said, puffing furiously at his pipe.i cant leave the paper.oh, men always say that! havent you let your pipe out? i dont see any smoke.he started and laughed.yes, theres no more tobacco in it.he laid it down.no, i insist on your going on, or else i shall feel uncomfortable.wheres your pouch? he felt all over his pockets.it must be on the table

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