All that made up the little parcel of her personality seemed gone. In
those days she had liked this and wanted that and forgotten and wanted
something else. Rainy weather had sent its ashen sheen over her spirit,
and her gladness had risen to meet the sun. She remembered the sudden
sweeps of depression that had clouded her horizon when she had drooped in
an unintelligible and not entirely disagreeable melancholy, and the
contrasting bursts of gayety when she laughed at anything and loved
everybody. Hours of flitting fancies flying this way and that, hovering
over chance incidents that were big by contrast with the surrounding
uneventfulness, the idleness of dropped hands and dreaming eyes, the
charmed peerings into the future--all were gone. Life had seized her in
a mighty grip, shaken her free of it all, and set her down where she felt
only a few imperious sensations, hunger, fatigue, fear of danger, love of
her father, and-- She pulled her thoughts to obedience with a sharp jerk
and added--love of David and hatred of Courant.
These two latter facts stood out sentinel-wise in the foreground.
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