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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Woman with the Fan"

People,
seeing this mask, would suppose--what might they not suppose? The pain in
her face became horrible. Suddenly, with a cry, she began to undo what
she had done. When she had finished she rang the bell. Her maid knocked
at the door. Without opening it she called out:
"Is his lordship in the house?"
"Yes, my lady. His lordship has just come in."
"Go and ask him to come up and see me."
"Yes, my lady."
Lady Holme sat down on the sofa at the foot of the bed. She was trembling
violently. She sat looking on the ground and trying to control her limbs.
A sort of dreadful humbleness surged through her, as if she were a guilty
creature about to cringe before a judge. She trembled till the sofa on
which she was sitting shook. She caught hold of the cushions and made a
strong effort to sit still. The handle of the door turned.
"Don't come in!" she cried out sharply.
But the door opened and her husband appeared on the threshold. As he did
so she turned swiftly so that only part of the left side of her face was
towards him.
"Vi!" he said. "Poor old girl, I--"
He was coming forward when she called out again "Stay there, Fritz!"
He stopped.
"Why?" he asked.
"I--I--wait a minute. Shut the door."
He shut the door. She was still looking away from him.
"Do you understand?" she said, still in a sharp voice.
"Understand what?"
"That I'm altered, that the accident's altered me--very much?"
"I know.


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