umor prompted her while the young woman read the letter.
The little stove was roaring; it was red-hotand the chocolate in the tin
sizzled and sputtered. Edna went forward and opened the stove doorand
Mademoiselle risingtook a letter from under the bust of Beethoven and
handed it to Edna.
Another
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she exclaimedher eyes filled with delight. "Tell
meMademoiselledoes he know that I see his letters?"
Never in the world! He would be angry and would never write to
The Awakening and Selected Short Stories
95
me again if he thought so. Does he write to you? Never a line. Does he
send you a message? Never a word. It is because he loves youpoor
fooland is trying to forget yousince you are not free to listen to him or
to belong to him.
Why do you show me his lettersthen?
Haven't you begged for them? Can I refuse you anything? Oh
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you cannot deceive me and Mademoiselle approached her beloved
instrument and began to play. Edna did not at once read the letter. She
sat holding it in her hand, while the music penetrated her whole being like
an effulgence
nike high heels, warming and brightening the dark places of her soul. It
prepared her for joy and exultation.
Oh!yilai:
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