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Mrs Pontellier was by that tian to cry a

little, and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her peignoir Blowing out

the candle, which her husband had left burning, she slipped her bare

feet into a pair of satin mules at the foot of the bed and went out

on the porch, where she sat down in the wicker chair and began to rock

gently to and fro

It was then past leamed out from the hallway of the house There was no sound

abroad except the hooting of an old owl in the top of a water-oak, and

the everlasting voice of the sea, that was not uplifted at that soft

hour It broke like a ht

The tears came so fast to Mrs Pontellier's eyes that the daer served to dry the the back

of her chair with one hand; her loose sleeve had slipped al, she thrust her face, stea and

wet, into the bend of her arer to dry her face, her eyes, her ar Such experiences as the foregoing were not uncommon