The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. A world of haystacks, bean-stacks, and strawricks flanked the granges adjoining his habitation; the yard was crowded with poultry, pigeons were feeding at his feet, cattle were being driven towards the stall, horses led to the stable, a large mastiff was rattling his chain, and stalking majestically in front of his kennel, while a number of farming-men were passing and repassing about their various occupations. . Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife. His face was white. Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels. I can see that you were somebody, in another day. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window.
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