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Neither could she succeed That was her horror As the weeks

passed on, there was no Ursula Brangwen, free and jolly There

was only a girl of that nae her class of children At week-ends there came days

of passionate reaction, when she went mad with the taste of

liberty, when , to sit down at

her embroidery and stitch the coloured silks was a passion of

delight For the prison house was always awaiting her! This was

only a respite, as her chained heart kneell So that she

seized hold of the swift hours of the week-end, and wrung the

last drop of sweetness out of them, in a little, cruel

frenzy

She did not tell anybody how this state was a torture to her

She did not confide, either to Gudrun or to her parents, how

horrible she found it to be a school-teacher But when Sunday

night ca up tight with dreadful anticipation, because the strain

and the torture was near again

She did not believe that she could ever teach that great,

brutish class, in that brutal school: ever, ever And yet, if

she failed, she o under Shefor her, she could not take her

place in it; she o down before Mr Harby And all her life