Chapter 4
Elizabeth stopped to catch her breath beneath a blossoming tree. She closed her eyes and leaned back, enjoying the cool air passing over her warm skin. Darcy's kiss to her wrist had also been a feeling of contrasts – warm lips on cool skin. She recalled the look in his eyes when he had kissed her – it filled her with delicious warmth and tingling throughout. Elizabeth traced her fingers over her lips slowly, gently, and thought of being kissed in the same way on the lips, leaning against the tree in dreamlike repose, surrounded by the sweet fragrance of the blossoms. She could think of nothing but the delightful sensation of Darcy’s lips on her wrist and hand and how those same lips might feel on her mouth.
Elizabeth cast a final look in the direction from which she last saw Mr Darcy, but she had no expectations of his reappearance. Walking briskly, she turned on to a familiar path, one that would lead her to the Parsonage. Less than a few minutes’ walk from the Parsonage, she saw a familiar figure approach. As he drew closer, her suspicions were proven correct as the figure was revealed to her as belonging to Colonel Fitzwilliam. She was not sure what, if anything, she might say about her meeting with his cousin and anticipated their meeting with apprehension. Normally fond of company, Elizabeth much preferred to avoid this meeting, her mind was in such a state of distraction. But it was too late, for the Colonel had recognized her, and was now approaching at a rapid step. Even at a distance, she could discern his happy countenance.
Despite feeling ill at ease, Elizabeth greeted him with every appearance of composure. They exchanged condolences, Colonel Fitzwilliam's kind and pleasant manners decreasing Elizabeth’s discomfort as they walked together towards the Parsonage.
“And what of Mrs Collins? How is she faring?”
“Remarkably well, I think. Quite cheerful and busy. And Miss de Bourgh has been very generous.”
“Yes, apparently she took great pleasure in that. Mrs Collins has always been very kind to my cousin.”
“I thought it uncommonly kind of your cousin.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged, sensing a stalemate, or at the very least, a tendency to admire the other's friend or relation indefinitely, and moved the conversation onto other topics, asking Elizabeth with great civility about her family and her time in Kent. She found Colonel Fitzwilliam just as charming as he had been in April, and looked forward to the prospect of his frequent visits to the Parsonage, both for his own personality and because he might bring occasional news of Mr Darcy. That she might even care about such a thing surprised her. The Colonel inquired if Mrs Collins was of a frame of mind to accept visitors. Elizabeth answered in the affirmative and mentioned that her elder sister had also accompanied her into Kent.
Colonel Fitzwilliam responded with some enthusiasm, “I would be happy to meet your sister, if I may. I have heard from my cousins that she is a most amiable young woman.”
Although Darcy had written positively about Jane in his letter, it pleased Elizabeth to no end that he felt it enough to express those same feelings to his family. She smiled a little, as if to herself, grateful that all her relations need not embarrass her. And she was pleased for Jane as well, for Colonel Fitzwilliam was a most amiable man with excellent manners. It occurred to her that perhaps he could help lift Jane's spirits, for Elizabeth had felt she could do no more to help her sister. They walked along for some distance in the direction of the Parsonage, exchanging pleasantries and talking about nothing in particular. For Elizabeth, it was a welcome change – as if one would move from the blazing fire to mere warmth. Still, she remained uneasy, for she could not put Mr Darcy out of her mind. The sensation of his lips on her skin, and the look in his eyes – and her wish afterward to experience the same feeling on her lips – oh how she wished to consider this further! But for now, she knew she must not. She certainly had no wish to reveal any of this in the presence of Mr Darcy's cousin, no matter how pleasant his company.
Jane sat on a bench in Charlotte's garden, sketchbook in hand. She was happy she had accompanied Elizabeth into Kent. It was quiet and beautiful here, and there were no expectations of her. There was no need to guard her every word, every action. Jane was free to express herself in her favourite manner. She had drawn now and again from the time she was very young, but never had the benefit of a master. She drew in private contemplation. Her entire acquaintance including Elizabeth, had no idea of the depth of her interest; rather they considered it an amusement, a proper product from the hand of a well-mannered young lady; sketches of flower-filled gardens, and sunlit fields, small, happy children, and likenesses of her sisters. There were other studies too, of poor countryside farmers, dark visions of poverty in London, and withered trees on barren, rain-swept landscapes. Jane hid her negative feelings in small sketchbooks secreted away in her chamber.
Jane shared her work with no one, not even her dearest sister. It was only the release that came from drawing that had saved her from complete despair while staying with the Gardiners the previous winter. Several sketchbooks were filled whilst Jane awaited a visit from Caroline Bingley or some word from her brother. After Miss Bingley finally made her very brief and most unpleasant appearance at the Gardiners, Jane created a series of small caricatures of Caroline dressed as a beggar, looking haggard and dirty. The likeness was remarkable and anyone acquainted with Miss Bingley would immediately recognize her. Jane was not entirely comfortable with feelings of dislike and anger and thus she concealed them in her sketchbooks. But since arriving into Kent, her sketches had been light and cheery. Jane enjoyed drawing the house and the garden, and even Charlotte's poultry made admirable subjects.
A noise distracted her, and she raised her head to observe Elizabeth talking happily to a young man. Surely not as handsome as Bingley, but his pleasant face showed good humour and in his features, Jane's artistic eye perceived a faint resemblance to someone she knew. She wondered if this could be the amiable Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr Darcy's cousin.
She hid her sketchbook under a pillow and sat in expectation, a gentle smile gracing her features. She had heard much about Colonel Fitzwilliam from both Elizabeth and Charlotte; even Maria Lucas had admired his civility. With no one to observe her or to pity her for her dismal marital prospects, and no expectations to fulfil, Jane looked forward to making his acquaintance.
In a moment, Elizabeth was standing before her with the young man, and after making the initial introduction, she bade him to sit.
“Let me see where Charlotte is hiding this morning. And I shall obtain some refreshment as well.” Elizabeth walked off quickly to the house, her bonnet already untied, trailing behind her, grateful for a chance to compose her own thoughts. Jane turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam, smiled and spoke to him with great civility. Almost immediately they felt an easiness between them as if they had known each other for many years.
“Quite a handsome fellow, I should say.”
“Oh,” Jane shut the sketchbook with a loud snap. “I did not mean to offend or embarrass you, Colonel.” She had drawn her fill of flowers and trees, poultry and vine-covered buildings, and had begun to sketch from memory a likeness. So engrossed was she in her work that she had failed to hear her subject approach from behind.
“Not at all, I am rather pleased to be the subject of your work.” He sat down across from Miss Bennet and held out his hand. “May I see it again?” He was by no means distressed to discover her alone; he had once again become a daily visitor to the Parsonage, enchanted by Miss Bennet, his eyes lingering on her face, or on her beautiful hands, so often still in contrast to Miss Elizabeth's rapid movements.
Jane bit her lip and coloured slightly, “I have not shown many of my drawings to anyone before. They really are not very good at all.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair and watched her for a moment. It had been a very long time since he had met a woman with a presence so genuinely engaging and restful. Colonel Fitzwilliam, used as he was to women hardened by the dictates of polished society, found himself captivated. Miss Bennet was a beautiful woman, possessed of a gentle civility and excellent manners, and yet, there was something that lay beneath, something beyond natural modesty, something more like sadness or uncertainty. Miss Bennet was a puzzle to him. He found himself wishing to learn what affected her so and remove it instantly.
“From what I have seen, you are very good indeed. Please, it would give me the greatest pleasure to look at your work. I have an interest in drawing myself. I draw for my own amusement, and I would be most happy to show you my own work if it would please you.”
Jane looked at his kind smile, feeling quite warm in a way she had not felt before. Without much consideration and to her own surprise, she handed him the book rather boldly and then looked down, quickly, to pick at an imaginary speck on her gown. The Colonel did not notice her embarrassment, so engrossed was he in the sketchbook in his hand.
“Why it is very good indeed! Quite a good likeness,” he stopped for a moment and examined the drawing again. “Well, perhaps you flatter me more than I deserve. I do not think I am quite this handsome.”
Jane regarded his countenance, her face charmingly coloured. “Thank you, sir, but I draw what I see.”
He looked at her with some scepticism, for he knew he was not a particularly handsome man, but Miss Bennet's drawing had seemingly captured his good humour and his face was kinder than what greeted him in the mirror each day. Her ability to capture expression was remarkable. He asked if he might see her other drawings.
“No one has ever seen these, no one at all,” her voice faltered.
“Well, then, it would be a quite an honour for me to be permitted. May I?”
Jane nodded and looked down quickly. She dare not watch while he leafed through the pages of her sketchbook, looking at each page carefully. Her face grew uncomfortably hot.
“Why these are excellent! Miss Bennet, you have a real talent for this. This is London, is it not?”
Jane followed his finger with her eyes. “Oh, yes. Those I drew last winter, while visiting my aunt and uncle.”
“And this small drawing of the beggar woman. Interesting. You capture facial expressions so beautifully. She appears to be very nearly mortified.”
Jane noticed with horror that Colonel Fitzwilliam pointed to a drawing of Caroline Bingley dressed in rags. She felt she would die of mortification herself and merely smiled her thanks.
Her companion nodded and continued his examination of her sketchbook, praising nearly every drawing there. Jane could barely look at him.
“But you are embarrassed! You must forgive me! Your work is very good, though and I would love to show you mine. Would you like to see it?”
He was so kind, and she had no doubt that he meant what he said. Still, she was still afraid to believe him. It was a consequence of her experience with Bingley that she could not easily trust the compliments of men. But Jane had excellent manners and nodded in agreement.
“It would be a privilege to show you my own sketches, and I hope you will enjoy them!”
He sounded so genuinely excited that Jane wished with all her heart to believe him.
Elizabeth, on her way to join them, had stopped in the doorway to watch Jane hand her sketchbook to Colonel Fitzwilliam. She watched as Jane's reaction went from embarrassment to something a little bit like pride. Elizabeth felt the greatest astonishment tinged with curiosity to see Jane share with the Colonel what she would not share with her own dearest sister. She realized that Jane seemed happier, more content of late, and she wondered how important the Colonel's attentions had been in motivating this change. Elizabeth knew that neither was of a disposition to act foolishly, but decided she must observe them carefully. And although Elizabeth's head had been filled with thoughts of Mr Darcy ever since their meeting in the wood, she felt an odd sense of jealousy - both of Colonel Fitzwilliam's attentions toward Jane, and of her own sister's attentions to him. It was not that she desired the attentions of Colonel Fitzwilliam specifically, rather she wished to experience these attentions from another quarter; and her desire for those attentions continued to puzzle her to no end.
A day of heavy rain had kept Colonel Fitzwilliam at Rosings. Sitting in the drawing room on the following morning, he was more than a little surprised at the intensity with which he had missed the company of Miss Jane Bennet. Stretching his legs, he rose from the seat and walked to the door, lost in the contemplation of this rare occurrence. The voice of his cousin caused him to turn.
“Off to the parsonage, then?”
“Yes, Anne.”
“You have not seen the occupants for an entire day. I imagine you must miss them,” Anne smiled at him sweetly.
He ignored her look and spoke to the other occupant of the room, “Georgiana, would you care to accompany me?”
Georgiana kept her eyes on her book. “No. I thank you Richard, but I prefer to stay here.”
The Colonel rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Come, get your bonnet and accompany me. It is a beautiful day. You are indoors far too much.”
“I do not wish to go.” Georgiana's quiet voice was firm.
“You do not wish to walk out of doors?”
Georgiana stiffened in her seat.
“Ah, I see. You do not wish to visit Mrs Collins and her friends?
When she did not respond, he continued, “Georgiana, you were almost rude to Mrs Collins and the Misses Bennet when they were introduced to you. It is unusual for you to be so.”
Georgiana remained quiet, avoiding his look as she played with the fabric of her gown, biting her lips and examining her fine slippers as she moved her feet along the hem of her gown.
“Really, must you sulk?” said Anne.
Georgiana spoke, her words tumbling out, “Must I be here when they visit? I do not think they are appropriate company, I have heard they are very wild and unmannered, and I find their conversation to be … to be … unseemly, especially Miss Elizabeth. How can she laugh so much? And Miss Bennet flirts with you shamelessly, always looking at drawings, as if someone could be that interested in drawing. And Mrs Collins, why, Mrs Collins talks about nothing but matters more suited to the staff. I do not know what to say to any of them! They are all so very strange.”
Anne spoke up immediately. “I consider them to be excellent company. They are far more pleasant and have far better manners than most of our own relations. At least they have the ability to converse on a variety of subjects and hold an opinion that is their own. And I enjoy their discussions, all of them. In fact, they shall be arriving soon for a visit.” She looked at Fitzwilliam. “So you see, Richard, there is no need for you to run off and visit the parsonage today. And I do hope, Georgiana, that you will grace us with your presence.”
Georgiana looked away in shock at Anne's directness.
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “Really Anne, for a moment I thought your mother had returned!”
Anne scowled at him, and Georgiana, amazed at the interchange, stared at her book, having no other place to look. Richard had always been solicitous and kind, and now he was either attempting to drag her off to the parsonage to visit the awful Bennets or abandoning her to Anne's sharp tongue. And Anne, formerly so quiet as to be nearly imperceptible now resembled her mother more and more at each and every turn. How Georgiana longed for her brother's company. He would not insist she meet these dreadful people, he would not force her into this society. Georgiana concentrated on her book, hoping her cousins would forget her presence.
Lost in thought, Elizabeth entered the drawing room at Rosings with Jane and Charlotte. She had barely spoken a word on the way across the park to Rosings, leaving her companions to chatter. Elizabeth had been more concerned with other matters, having wondered of late what it would be like to have Miss Darcy for a sister, and found the idea not all together pleasing. Had Elizabeth not heard from both Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam that Miss Darcy was exceedingly shy, she would have agreed with Mr Wickham’s description of her as proud. Miss Darcy was quiet, she was not friendly, she had barely said two words to any of the Hunsford party when they were in attendance. She simply refused to engage in much conversation at all, despite gentle encouragement from her companion, Mrs Annesley, and more outspoken admonishment from Miss de Bourgh. Rather, Elizabeth observed Miss Darcy casting frequent, furtive gazes in both her direction and Jane’s, with a expression that did not signify approval. It was enough for Elizabeth to wonder what Miss Darcy had heard of her and her sister, and from whom.
Elizabeth found herself sitting alone, on this particular visit. Miss de Bourgh and Charlotte were engaged in a serious discussion of domestic matters and Jane was deep in conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam about some facet of drawing, neither of which interested Elizabeth. Miss Darcy remained quiet and distant, despite a few attempts to engage her in conversation, and Elizabeth generally busied herself with her own thoughts, which invariably wandered to Mr Darcy. She found herself wishing for his return once again. She might have been surprised to know that Mr Darcy’s sister’s thoughts were very much the same.
Across the room Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to his cousin and said, “The gardens here have become quite overgrown, Anne.”
His cousin turned her gaze to the window for a moment before she spoke, “Shall I obtain some shears and trim the branches myself then, Richard?”
The Colonel looked at her in some surprise, and then let out a rather loud and undignified laugh. “Of course not, but it is your property now, you must decide. Your mother took an intimate interest in every branch, tree and plant outside, and all the furnishings within.”
Anne sighed. “Yes, I know…she was attentive to all these things.”
“And you do not wish to be so.”
“No, it pleases me very little. I dislike trees forced into strange and unnatural shapes, and I care little for all this oppressive grandeur. I wish to be comfortable.”
“Well, I cannot argue with you. It certainly has become more pleasant to sit in this room without these excessive hangings, do you not agree, Miss Elizabeth?”
“The room is very pleasant, not that it was not before, of course,” she said.
“How diplomatic of you, Miss Elizabeth. Surely you have an opinion, however.”
Elizabeth turned to her hostess, and noticed again the difference in her appearance. Where she had been thin and pale before, Miss de Bourgh's face was full, and pink, and her complexion glowed in the afternoon sun. She had become quite pretty, with soft, pale hair that curled around her face. Her eyes were dark, however, like her Darcy cousins, and Elizabeth often felt that Miss de Bourgh stared at her and at Jane with the same intent and unembarrassed gaze as had her cousin. Still, Elizabeth could not help but enjoy the changes in Miss de Bourgh, as if she had come to life. Likewise, she had been pleasantly surprised by the changes to the room. Many of the oppressive hangings and heavy furnishings had been removed. All in all, the room appeared larger, lighter, less crowded and more pleasing. Elizabeth could not help but smile as she replied:
“I believe I prefer the current configuration. As well, I much prefer the trees in their natural state.”
They were surprised to hear Georgiana's soft voice. “Pemberley has many natural beauties. Fitzwilliam is adamant that plants shall not be deformed in the name of fashion, although we do have lovely formal gardens.”
“I have heard, Miss Darcy, that Pemberley is quite beautiful. How pleasant it must be for you to spend time there,” Elizabeth said, grateful that Miss Darcy was less inclined to sulk.
Georgiana nodded and attempted a small smile. She was attempting to be more civil to the Misses Bennet. She had to admit that they were fairly well-mannered young ladies. She had begun to wonder why they had been presented to her as so very wild.“Do you spend much time at Pemberley?” Despite her trepidation, Elizabeth was determined to get to know Miss Darcy better.
“Not as much as I would like. Mostly I am in London, but when Fitzwilliam travels there, very often I go as well. We have not been there this year, however.”
“You must miss it very much. Do you know when your brother will return from London, Miss Darcy?”
Georgiana stared at her for a moment, wondering about Miss Bennet’s motives. Could Miss Bennet have an interest in her brother? Or her brother in Miss Bennet? She tried to banish the ridiculous thought from her head as she said, “I do not know when exactly. He has some business to which he must attend.”
Anne rolled her eyes. “Business is always a convenient excuse. I would not hold my breath for Darcy to come back, he is perfectly content to travel about the countryside visiting here and there while you are situated in London, or with our relatives, or worse, banished to tedious sea side towns, such as Ramsgate.”
“Anne,” Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke in a warning tone. “You do know not what you are saying.” Elizabeth looked about with alarm. Miss Darcy sat very still, and pale, looking down into her lap. Elizabeth, quite sure that Miss de Bourgh knew nothing about Ramsgate, felt nothing but pity for poor Miss Darcy.
Miss de Bourgh laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Darcy does exactly as he pleases, with no thought to anyone else. He is supremely selfish.” She looked at Georgiana “I know you admire him as an ideal brother, a most revered parent, but there are other aspects to him as well.”
Georgiana stared at her cousin, coloured and held on to her handkerchief tightly. She knew not what other aspects Anne could possibly mean. Again, she wondered about Miss Elizabeth and her brother. Something had happened to change him in Kent, and Miss Elizabeth had been in Kent.
“Miss de Bourgh,” Elizabeth said, with firm politeness, “I do not think that Mr Darcy is so heartless and selfish as that. I believe he takes his responsibilities very seriously.” She found herself rising from her seat, trembling a little to defend Mr Darcy almost without thought.
Georgiana watched warily as Miss Elizabeth continued, her colour high. “It is true that I do not know Mr Darcy well, but I do not think he could do such a thing, without good reason,” and here she lost her composure. “I am sorry, it is not my place, but, perhaps…well, I am sorry for intruding on a family matter. Please excuse me.” And she quickly left the room much to everyone's surprise, followed shortly after by her sister
Anne looked around the room, and caught Fitzwilliam's eye. He disapproved of her! What nonsense! She then noticed Georgiana, so upset she was nearly trembling with fear, and she sighed. Whatever argument she had with Darcy had nothing to do with his care and concern for Georgiana. Miss Elizabeth was correct – Darcy did take his responsibilities very seriously – and if perhaps he was occasionally misguided, well then, it should be pointed out to him, but perhaps not in front of his sister. But Miss Elizabeth was a puzzle. Why should she even deign to defend him? Anne hoped Miss Elizabeth had no expectations of her cousin, she knew him far better and far longer. It did not matter how clever or how pretty she was, she was simply unsuitable.
Georgiana felt as though she could not breathe. Miss Elizabeth knew! How could she know her most private, humiliating secret? Her brother would never betray her to a stranger, but he must have. But how? And why? How had Miss Elizabeth arranged this? Or had she known someone else who could have informed her? No, it was not possible! She tried to remember what Caroline Bingley had said of the Bennets but her head began to throb. In a quiet, strained voice, she said:
“I must beg to be excused. I would like to go to my room.” Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded his assent.
Watching Georgiana leave the room, Anne shook her head. “I do not know what Darcy is about sometimes, Richard.”
“Do not be so quick to blame him, Anne. He tries very hard with Georgiana. You do not know the whole story.”
“Well, I have seen enough to know that he should have done better.”
Visits continued between the Rosings and Hunsford parties, for the next week or so although Miss Darcy was frequently absent, preferring to keep to her room and her books and piano, as well as to the company of Mrs Annesley. She remained steadfast despite several appeals from Colonel Fitzwilliam. Miss de Bourgh had no patience for what she perceived to be a case of the sulks and had thrown her hands up in frustration, leaving Georgiana's room after a single attempt. Colonel Fitzwilliam had a fair idea of what was happening, despite Georgiana's refusal to confirm his suspicions. Indeed, she barely spoke to him at all. He found his cousin Anne to be as stubborn and opinionated as her mother had ever been. He wished he could confide in Miss Jane Bennet, but knew that he could not.
One morning, as the ladies from Hunsford were preparing to walk to Rosings, a carriage arrived at the Parsonage gates. Colonel Fitzwilliam emerged from the carriage, attired for travel. After greeting everyone, he asked Miss Bennet to accompany him into the garden. His countenance lacked its usual cheerfulness. They walked along quietly, silently enjoying the bright sunny morning after a heavy rain, or perhaps each was involved in the contemplation of that which neither wished to discuss. Jane had expected this since their evening at Rosings when Elizabeth had defended Mr Darcy. Elizabeth had refused to speak of it further, but Jane knew it weighed heavily on her. And although they visited Rosings regularly, they saw little of Miss Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, while as amiable and attentive as ever, occasionally appeared possessed of an absence of mind that did not seem to fit his manner. Jane feared that their interlude was coming to a close.
Abruptly, her companion stopped, and looked at her.
“Miss Bennet, I must go to London. There are some matters to which I must attend.”
“I see.” Jane bit her lip.
“But I will return as soon as may be.”
“Of course Colonel. Of course.” Jane looked away, off into Charlotte's garden and tried to concentrate on the multitude of flowers. She had thought Bingley would return, and he never had. This time it would be far, far worse.
“Miss Bennet, I was wondering if I might ask something of you.”
“Yes?” She turned to face him. He looked almost hopeful, eager.
“I know it is a very great imposition to ask this, but I would be so grateful if you would allow me to take a few drawings, just as a reminder.”
“I-I do not know. It is strange – unseemly.” She turned away as she spoke. “Why on earth should you waste your time looking at the idle sketches of an insignificant woman such as myself?”
“You are enormously talented, Miss Bennet. And Miss Bennet, Jane – you are far from insignificant.” She turned to look at him, and in that moment, decided as well that she had nothing to lose by granting him this wish. She walked into the house for a moment and returned with her small red book, full of her angry drawings. She cared nothing for them any longer, they were her past. He took the book from her and held on to her hand a moment longer than was strictly necessary.
He bent to kiss her hand. She closed her eyes for a moment, trembling slightly as his lips brushed lightly against her skin.
“Colonel, if I may make a request?” she said, not daring to open her eyes.
“Yes Miss Bennet?” He had not yet released her hand.
“I would hope that you will return this to me in person and not via post or messenger with a cold, stiff note.” Her eyes open, she looked at him, as if to fix his face in her thoughts.
“Of course I will return with your book, of course. How could you think otherwise?”
Jane sighed, and turned away to focus on the same large tree where he first discovered her drawing. She did not want to look at his face again, for she knew she would cry. “It has been my experience, sir that young men often go away with the promise of returning and yet, something always happens to entice them, to prevent them from keeping their promises.”
“Miss Bennet, I assure you that I am not other men. I know not of whom you speak, but please know this. I will return.”
Jane turned, and looked down at their hands, joined together. She could still imagine the feeling of his lips on the back of her hand, and sighed imperceptibly. “Indeed, Colonel Fitzwilliam, then I shall look forward to your return.”
They had reached the gate and the waiting carriage. Colonel Fitzwilliam stood for a moment, looking at Jane, indecision playing across his face. He sighed and released her hand with some regret. With a final bow, he ascended into the carriage, and at his command, the carriage departed. Jane watched the carriage travel down the road, and slowly walked into the house, willing herself to sustain the appearance of calm. Once inside, she made her way to her room, shut the door and lay down upon the bed. Nearly an hour had passed before she could stop crying.
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