CHAPTER V
THE WAY OF THE WORLD AT LARGE
Through the night Hazel dozed fitfully, waking out of uneasy sleep to
lie staring, wide-eyed, into the dark, every nerve in her body taut,
her mind abnormally active. She tried to accept things
philosophically, but her philosophy failed. There was a hurt, the pain
of which she could not ease by any mental process. Grief and anger by
turns mastered her, and at daybreak she rose, heavy-lidded and
physically weary.
The first thing upon which her gaze alighted was the crumpled photo in
its shattered frame; and, sitting on the side of her bed, she laughed
at the sudden fury in which she had destroyed it; but there was no
mirth in her laughter.
"'Would we not shatter it to little bits--and then,'" she murmured.
"No, Mr. John Barrow, I don't believe I'd want to mold you nearer to my
heart's desire. Not after yesterday evening. There's such a thing as
being hurt so badly that one finally gets numb; and one always shrinks
from anything that can deliver such a hurt. Well, it's another day.
And there'll be lots of other days, I suppose."
She gathered up the bits of broken glass and the bent frame, and put
them in a drawer, dressed herself, and went down to breakfast.
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