edwindvinas/testdataset · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 72
empty—empty. Nothing is worse than emptiness. Nothing!” Valancy
ejaculated the last “nothing” aloud passionately. Then she moaned and
stopped thinking about anything for a while. One of her attacks of pain
had come on.

When it was over something had happened to Valancy—perhaps the
culmination of the process that had been going on in her mind ever
since she had read Dr. Trent’s letter. It was three o’clock in the
morning—the wisest and most accursed hour of the clock. But sometimes
it sets us free.

“I’ve been trying to please other people all my life and failed,” she
said. “After this I shall please myself. I shall never pretend anything
again. I’ve breathed an atmosphere of fibs and pretences and evasions
all my life. What a luxury it will be to tell the truth! I may not be
able to do much that I want to do but I won’t do another thing that I
don’t want to do. Mother can pout for weeks—I shan’t worry over it.
‘Despair is a free man—hope is a slave.’”

Valancy got up and dressed, with a deepening of that curious sense of
freedom. When she had finished with her hair she opened the window and
hurled the jar of potpourri over into the next lot. It smashed
gloriously against the schoolgirl complexion on the old carriage-shop.

“I’m sick of the fragrance of dead things,” said Valancy.




CHAPTER IX


Uncle Herbert and Aunt Alberta’s silver wedding was delicately referred
to among the Stirlings during the following weeks as “the time we first
noticed poor Valancy was—a little—you understand?”

Not for worlds would any of the Stirlings have said out and out at
first that Valancy had gone mildly insane or even that her mind was
slightly deranged. Uncle Benjamin was considered to have gone entirely
too far when he had ejaculated, “She’s dippy—I tell you, she’s dippy,”
and was only excused because of the outrageousness of Valancy’s conduct
at the aforesaid wedding dinner.

But Mrs. Frederick and Cousin Stickles had noticed a few things that
made them uneasy _before_ the dinner. It had begun with the rosebush,
of course; and Valancy never was really “quite right” again. She did
not seem to worry in the least over the fact that her mother was not
speaking to her. You would never suppose she noticed it at all. She had
flatly refused to take either Purple Pills or Redfern’s Bitters. She
had announced coolly that she did not intend to answer to the name of
“Doss” any longer. She had told Cousin Stickles that she wished she
would give up wearing that brooch with Cousin Artemas Stickles’ hair in
it. She had moved her bed in her room to the opposite corner. She had
read _Magic of Wings_ Sunday afternoon. When Cousin Stickles had
rebuked her Valancy had said indifferently, “Oh, I forgot it was
Sunday”—and _had gone on reading it_.

Cousin Stickles had seen a terrible thing—she had caught Valancy
sliding down the bannister. Cousin Stickles did not tell Mrs. Frederick
this—poor Amelia was worried enough as it was. But it was Valancy’s
announcement on Saturday night that she was not going to go to the
Anglican church any more that broke through Mrs. Frederick’s stony
silence.

“Not going to church any more! Doss, have you absolutely taken leave——”

“Oh, I’m going to church,” said Valancy airily. “I’m going to the
Presbyterian church. But to the Anglican church I will not go.”

This was even worse. Mrs. Frederick had recourse to tears, having found
outraged majesty had ceased to be effective.

“What have you got against the Anglican church?” she sobbed.

“Nothing—only just that you’ve always made me go there. If you’d made
me go to the Presbyterian church I’d want to go to the Anglican.”

“Is that a nice thing to say to your mother? Oh, how true it is that it
is sharper than a serpent’s tooth to have a thankless child.”

“Is that a nice thing to say to your daughter?” said unrepentant
Valancy.

So Valancy’s behaviour at the silver wedding was not quite the surprise
to Mrs. Frederick and Christine Stickles that it was to the rest. They
were doubtful about the wisdom of taking her, but concluded it would
“make talk” if they didn’t. Perhaps she would behave herself, and so
far no outsider suspected there was anything queer about her. By a
special mercy of Providence it had poured torrents Sunday morning, so
Valancy had not carried out her hideous threat of going to the
Presbyterian church.

Valancy would not have cared in the least if they had left her at home.
These family celebrations were all hopelessly dull. But the Stirlings
always celebrated everything. It was a long-established custom. Even
Mrs. Frederick gave a dinner party on her wedding anniversary and
Cousin Stickles had friends in to supper on her birthday. Valancy hated
these entertainments because they had to pinch and save and contrive
for weeks afterwards to pay for them. But she wanted to go to the
silver wedding. It would hurt Uncle Herbert’s feelings if she stayed

empty—empty. Nothing is worse than emptiness. Nothing!” Valancy

ejaculated the last “nothing” aloud passionately. Then she moaned and

stopped thinking about anything for a while. One of her attacks of pain

had come on.

When it was over something had happened to Valancy—perhaps the

culmination of the process that had been going on in her mind ever

since she had read Dr. Trent’s letter. It was three o’clock in the

morning—the wisest and most accursed hour of the clock. But sometimes

it sets us free.

“I’ve been trying to please other people all my life and failed,” she

said. “After this I shall please myself. I shall never pretend anything

again. I’ve breathed an atmosphere of fibs and pretences and evasions

all my life. What a luxury it will be to tell the truth! I may not be

able to do much that I want to do but I won’t do another thing that I

don’t want to do. Mother can pout for weeks—I shan’t worry over it.

‘Despair is a free man—hope is a slave.’”

Valancy got up and dressed, with a deepening of that curious sense of

freedom. When she had finished with her hair she opened the window and

hurled the jar of potpourri over into the next lot. It smashed

gloriously against the schoolgirl complexion on the old carriage-shop.

“I’m sick of the fragrance of dead things,” said Valancy.

CHAPTER IX

Uncle Herbert and Aunt Alberta’s silver wedding was delicately referred

to among the Stirlings during the following weeks as “the time we first

noticed poor Valancy was—a little—you understand?”

Not for worlds would any of the Stirlings have said out and out at

first that Valancy had gone mildly insane or even that her mind was

slightly deranged. Uncle Benjamin was considered to have gone entirely

too far when he had ejaculated, “She’s dippy—I tell you, she’s dippy,”

and was only excused because of the outrageousness of Valancy’s conduct

at the aforesaid wedding dinner.

But Mrs. Frederick and Cousin Stickles had noticed a few things that

made them uneasy _before_ the dinner. It had begun with the rosebush,

of course; and Valancy never was really “quite right” again. She did

not seem to worry in the least over the fact that her mother was not

speaking to her. You would never suppose she noticed it at all. She had

flatly refused to take either Purple Pills or Redfern’s Bitters. She

had announced coolly that she did not intend to answer to the name of

“Doss” any longer. She had told Cousin Stickles that she wished she

would give up wearing that brooch with Cousin Artemas Stickles’ hair in

it. She had moved her bed in her room to the opposite corner. She had

read _Magic of Wings_ Sunday afternoon. When Cousin Stickles had

rebuked her Valancy had said indifferently, “Oh, I forgot it was

Sunday”—and _had gone on reading it_.

Cousin Stickles had seen a terrible thing—she had caught Valancy

sliding down the bannister. Cousin Stickles did not tell Mrs. Frederick

this—poor Amelia was worried enough as it was. But it was Valancy’s

announcement on Saturday night that she was not going to go to the

Anglican church any more that broke through Mrs. Frederick’s stony

silence.

“Not going to church any more! Doss, have you absolutely taken leave——”

“Oh, I’m going to church,” said Valancy airily. “I’m going to the

Presbyterian church. But to the Anglican church I will not go.”

This was even worse. Mrs. Frederick had recourse to tears, having found

outraged majesty had ceased to be effective.

“What have you got against the Anglican church?” she sobbed.

“Nothing—only just that you’ve always made me go there. If you’d made

me go to the Presbyterian church I’d want to go to the Anglican.”

“Is that a nice thing to say to your mother? Oh, how true it is that it

is sharper than a serpent’s tooth to have a thankless child.”

“Is that a nice thing to say to your daughter?” said unrepentant

Valancy.

So Valancy’s behaviour at the silver wedding was not quite the surprise

to Mrs. Frederick and Christine Stickles that it was to the rest. They

were doubtful about the wisdom of taking her, but concluded it would

“make talk” if they didn’t. Perhaps she would behave herself, and so

far no outsider suspected there was anything queer about her. By a

special mercy of Providence it had poured torrents Sunday morning, so

Valancy had not carried out her hideous threat of going to the

Presbyterian church.

Valancy would not have cared in the least if they had left her at home.

These family celebrations were all hopelessly dull. But the Stirlings

always celebrated everything. It was a long-established custom. Even

Mrs. Frederick gave a dinner party on her wedding anniversary and

Cousin Stickles had friends in to supper on her birthday. Valancy hated

these entertainments because they had to pinch and save and contrive

for weeks afterwards to pay for them. But she wanted to go to the

silver wedding. It would hurt Uncle Herbert’s feelings if she stayed