art deco painting
Gustav Klimt two girls with an oleander Painting
To pacify her, I held the casement ajar a few seconds. A cold blast rushed through; I closed it, and returned to my post. She lay still now, her face bathed in tears. Exhaustion of body had entirely subdued her spirit: our fiery Catherine was no better than a wailing child.
`How long is it since I shut myself in here?' she asked, suddenly reviving.
`It was Monday evening,' I replied, `and this is Thursday night, or rather Friday morning, at present.
`What! of the same week?' she exclaimed. `Only that brief time?'
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`Long enough to live on nothing but cold water and ill-temper, observed I.
`Well, it seems a weary number of hours,' she muttered doubtfully: `it must be more. I remember being in the parlour after they had quarrelled, and Edgar being cruelly provoking, and me running into this room desperate. As soon as ever I had barred the door, utter blackness overwhelmed me, and I fell on the floor. I couldn't explain to Edgar how certain I felt of having a
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