Story of an Hour

She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance.

No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.

He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.

She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name.

There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature.

She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms.

He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.

There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.

It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.

She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.

Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.

There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature.

The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes.

She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her.

He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.

He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.

A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial.

But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky.

Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her.

She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name.

She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance.

When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips.

She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs.

It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed."

It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.

He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.

A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial.

A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial.

They stayed keen and bright.

But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air.

It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing.

But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky.

There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.

He had been far from the scene of accident, and did not even know there had been one.

There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory.

It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing.

A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.

The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes.

Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.

She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs.

When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips.

It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed."

It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing.

The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.

He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.

Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her.

Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.

It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed."

She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will--as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been.

She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities.

She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will--as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been.

It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed."