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Glyn, Elinor, 1864-1943

"His Hour"

She had been so very unhappy, and had only the outlook
of dullness and regret. Tonight she would retaliate, she would do as
she felt inclined.
So she leaned back in her chair and smiled, making a tantalizing moue
at him, while she said, mockingly:
"Aren't you a barbarian, Prince! Only the days of Ivan the Terrible are
over, thank goodness!"
He took a chair and sat down quietly, but the tone of his voice should
have warned her as he said:
"You are counting upon the unknown."
She peeped at him now through half-closed alluring lids, and she
noticed he was very pale.
In her quiet, well-ordered life she had never come in contact with real
passion. She had not the faintest idea of the vast depths she was
stirring. All she knew was she loved him very much, and the whole thing
galled her pride horribly. It seemed a satisfaction, a salve to her
wounded vanity, to be able to make him feel, to punish him a little for
all her pain.
"Think! This time next week. I shall be safe in peaceful England, where
we have not to combat the unknown."
"No?"
"No. Marraine and I have settled everything. I take the Wednesday's Nord
Express after we get back to Petersburg."
"And tomorrow is Friday, and there are yet five days. Well, we must
contrive to show you some more scenes of our uncivilized country, and
perhaps after all you won't go.


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