With eyes on the purple horizon her thoughts went back to her home in
Rochester with the green shutters and the brasses on the door. How far
away it seemed! Incidents in its peaceful routine were like the
resurgences of memory from a previous incarnation. There was no
tenderness in her thoughts of the past, no sentiment clung to her
recollections of what was now a dead phase of her life. She was
slightly impatient of its contented smallness, of her satisfaction with
such things as her sewing, her cake making, her childish conferences
with girl friends on the vine-grown porch. They seemed strangely
trivial and unmeaning compared to the exhilarating present. She was
living now, feeling the force of a rising growth, her horizon widening
to suit that which her eyes sought, the dependence of her sheltered
girlhood gone from her as the great adventure called upon untouched
energies and untried forces. It was like looking back on another girl,
or like a woman looking back on a child.
She had often spoken to David of these past days, and saw that her
descriptions charmed him. He had asked her questions about it and been
surprised that she did not miss the old existence more.
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