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There stood facing the open square before her house, the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which someone was singing reached her faintly and countless sparrows were twittering in the caves. She was young with fair skin a calm face whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strenght. Now there were a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away on oneof those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspend of intelligent thought.

2006-10-11 15:16:06 · 1 answers · asked by sexy r 1 in Education & Reference Higher Education (University +)

1 answers

Kate Chopin, The Story of an Hour.

2006-10-12 14:43:59 · answer #1 · answered by X 7 · 0 0

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