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Somehow or other the empty day passed; she had Lloyd's novel and the

candy It was cold enough for a fire in the parlor, and she lay on the

sofa in front of it, and read and nibbled her candy and drowsed Once,

lazily, she roused herself to throw sorains of incense on the hot

coals Gradually the silence and perfume and warm sloth pushed the

pain of the last twenty-four hours into the background of her mind,

where it lay a dull ache of discontent By and by even that ceased in

physical well-being Her body had her in its grip, and her spirit sunk

softly into the war her

dinner into the parlor; after she had eaten it she slept When she

awoke in the late afternoon, she wished she could sleep again All her

thoughts ran together in a lazy blur Somewhere, back of the blur, she

knew there was unhappiness, so this was best--to lie war over her book

The next few days were given up to indolence and apathy But at the

end of the week the soul of her stirred A letter fro that he hoped she had the little boy with her, and this