For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. You can scribble if you want to, but after you've given your eight hours daily to the mills. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. Another long interval elapsed. “And, after all, I am just one common person!” She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her breast.
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