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Canfield, Dorothy, 1879-1958

"The Bent Twig"

No, I am not turning my back
on him. Only I must have more time to think--"
Aloud she said, after a moment's silence, "Oh, nothing could be
lovelier!"
She lay in her warm, clean white bed that night, sleeping the sound
sleep of the healthy young animal which has been wet and cold and
hungry, and is now dry and warmed and fed.
Outside, across the city, on his bronze pedestal, the tortured
Thinker, loyal to his destiny, still strove terribly against the
limitations of his ape-like forehead.


BOOK IV;
_THE STRAIT PATH_


CHAPTER XL
A CALL FROM HOME

It was quite dark when they arrived in the harbor at Naples; and
they were too late to go through the necessary formalities of harbor
entering. In company with several other in-and outward-bound steamers,
the _Carnatic_ lay to for the night. Some one pointed out a big liner
which would sail for New York the next morning, lying like a huge,
gaily lighted island, the blare of her band floating over the still
water.
Sylvia slept little that night, missing the rolling swing of the ship,
and feeling breathless in the stifling immobility of the cabin. She
tossed about restlessly, dozing off at intervals and waking with a
start to get up on her knees and look out through the port-hole at the
lights of Naples blazing steadily in their semicircle. She tried to
think several times, about her relations to Felix, to Austin--but
nothing came to her mind except a series of scenes in which they had
figured, scenes quite disconnected, which brought no enlightenment to
her.


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