the last supper

the last supper
Next day, by noon, I was up and dressed, and sat wrapped in a shawl
by the nursery hearth. I felt physically weak and broken down: but
my worse ailment was an unutterable wretchedness of mind: a
wretchedness which kept drawing from me silent tears; no sooner had
I wiped one salt drop from my cheek than another followed. Yet, I
thought, I ought to have been happy, for none of the Reeds were there,
they were all gone out in the carriage with their mama. Abbot, too,
was sewing in another room, and Bessie, as she moved hither and
thither, putting away toys and arranging drawers, addressed to me
every now and then a word of unwonted kindness. This state of things
should have been to me a paradise of peace, accustomed as I was to a
life of ceaseless reprimand and thankless fagging; but, in fact, my
racked nerves were now in such a state that no calm could soothe,
and no pleasure excite them agreeably.
the last supper