I was alone—I felt it for the first time in my life—horribly and fearfully _alone_. Everything around me was unchanged, and yet nothing looked the same. The August sun streamed in mercilessly through the white window blind, lighting up every nook and corner of the commonly-furnished room. I had known those ornaments upon the chimney-piece for years past—that Parian figure of Innocence, pretending to be modest behind a rag of drapery about the size of a housemaid’s duster—and that fine Court gentleman in imitation Dresden, who never left off beckoning to the lady who stood opposite to him, hiding her face coquettishly behind a fan. I had heard the tick of the carriage clock, which was one of …
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