She withdrew slowly into the attic, and
sank down upon the floor, close by the window. She sat there and
thought, and the wind still struck upon her unheeded. Was she always to
be subject to the tyranny of those who had set up their hearth-stones
in a more enduring form? Was her home not a home merely because there
were no men and children in it? She drew her breath sharply, and
confronted certain problems of the greater world, not knowing what they
were. To Lucy Ann they did not seem problems at all. They were simply
touches on the individual nerve, and she felt the pain. Her own inner
self throbbed in revolt, but she never guessed that any other part of
nature was throbbing with it. Then she went about her work, with the
patience of habit. It was well that the attic should be cleaned, though
the savor of the task was gone.
Next day, she walked to Sudleigh, with a basket on her arm. Often she
sent her little errands by the neighbors; but to-day she was uneasy,
and it seemed as if the walk might do her good. She wanted some soda
and some needles and thread. She tried to think they were very
important, though some sense of humor told her grimly that household
goods are of slight use to one who goes a-cousining.
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