Baxter
through the gate.
Left alone to herself, Mrs. Tucker raised her hands above her head with
a little cry, interlocked her rigid fingers, and slowly brought her
palms down upon her upturned face and eyes, pressing hard as if to crush
out all light and sense of life before her. She stood thus for a moment
motionless and silent, with the rising wind whispering without and
flecking her white morning dress with gusty shadows from the arbor.
Then, with closed eyes, dropping her hands to her breast, still pressing
hard, she slowly passed them down the shapely contours of her figure to
the waist, and with another cry cast them off as if she were stripping
herself of some loathsome garment. Then she walked quickly to the
gateway, looked out, returned to the corridor, unloosening and taking
off her wedding-ring from her finger as she walked. Here she paused,
then slowly and deliberately rearranged the chairs and adjusted the
gay-colored rugs that draped them, and quietly re-entered her chamber.
Two days afterwards the sweating steed of Captain Poindexter was
turned loose in the corral, and a moment later the captain entered the
corridor.
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