From a drawer in the
Chippendale chest which he had bought her, she brought forth a new
nightdress, in-let with dainty openwork, which a few days before she
had purchased. This she put on. Then she went to the mirror,
scrutinizing herself in its polished reflection. Her hair was untidy.
She took it all down and put it up afresh, curling the long strands
around her fingers as he had often said he had loved to see them.
When that was finished, she sprayed herself with scent--on her hair,
her arms, her breast, turning the spray, before it spluttered into
silence, in the direction of the pillow upon which she slept. Finally,
she knelt down by her bedside and prayed--
"Oh God--let him love me--always--always; show me how I can keep him
to love me--always--always."
So she prayed for a way, having already chosen it, as once before
she had prayed for guidance, well knowing what course she was about
to adopt. So most of us pray that we may know those things on which
we have decided knowledge already. It helps us in the throwing of
blame on to the shoulders of God. It consoles us--the deed being
done--when we think that--at least--we prayed.
When she rose to her feet, she stood listening--listening intently.
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