It was the shell without the kernel. The soup
ladle seemed to be by mistake in the wrong hands; Preston
seemed to have no business with my father's carving knife and
fork; the sense of desolation pressed upon me everywhere.
After dinner, the ladies went up stairs to choose their rooms,
and Miss Pinshon avowed that she wished to have mine within
hers; it would be proper and convenient, she said. Aunt Gary
made no objection; but there was some difficulty, because all
the rooms had independent openings into the gallery. Miss
Pinshon hesitated a moment between one of two that opened into
each other and another that was pleasanter and larger but
would give her less facility for overlooking my affairs. For
one moment I drew a breath of hope; and then my hope was
quashed. Miss Pinshon chose one of the two that opened into
each other; and my only comfort was in the fact that my own
room had two doors and I was not obliged to go through Miss
Pinshon's to get to it. Just as this business was settled,
Preston called me out into the gallery and asked me to go for
a walk.
Pages:
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50