Her body never moved; only once and
again her thin, delicate hand ever so gently lifted, turned a page,
then settled down on to her lap once more. She never raised her
eyes.
The fire was heavy and sullen; the wind howled; that old familiar
beating of the twigs upon the pane seemed to reiterate to Maggie
that this was her last evening. She pretended to read. She had found
a heavy gilt volume of Paradise Lost with Dore's pictures. She read
these words:
Beyond this flood a frozen Continent Lies dark and wilde, beat with
perpetual storms Of whirlwind and dire hail; which on firm land
Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems Of ancient pile; all
else deep snow and ice, A gulf profound as that Serbonian bay
Betwixt Damiata and Mount Casius old, Where armies whole have sunk;
the parching Air Burns froze, and cold performs the effect of Fire.
Further again, words caught her eye.
Thus roving on In confused march forlorn, th' adventurous Bands With
shuddering horror pale, and eyes aghast Viewed first their
lamentable lot, and found No rest; through many a dark and drearie
Vaile They passed, and many a Region dolorous.
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