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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"Flames"

She bowed to the
doctor and sat down.
"I am glad you could see me to-day," she said. "I leave London early
to-morrow morning. I hate London."
She spoke in a full and rather rich voice, with a slightly burring
accent, and looked the doctor full in the face with a pair of large and
sensible grey eyes. Nature had certainly built her to be one of those
towers of women, strong for themselves, for their sex, and often for men
also, who possess a peculiar power, given in quite full measure to no
male creature, of large sympathy and lofty composure. But the doctor saw
at a glance that some adverse fate had disagreed with the intentions of
nature, and fought against them with success. Circumstances must have
arisen in this woman's life to break down her unusual equipment of
courage and resolution, or if not to break it down, to dint and batter
the shield she carried over her heart and life. For her fine face was
lined with care, her naturally firm mouth was tormented by an apparently
irresistible quivering, that, once prompted by long and painful emotion,
had now become habitual and mechanical, and her eyes, although they met
the eyes of the doctor with a peculiar large reception and return of
scrutiny, held in their depths that hunted expression which is only
developed by long agony, either physical or mental.


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