Read "The Dewy Morn" by Richard Jefferies online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
The very thought of the waiting depressed her; as if a darkness had fallen on her heart in the midst of the sunshine. Her gloom had increased till it verged on anger -- the two are near together; gloom and anger are like twins. She grew angry, she knew not with what, and stood up. The blackbird who had been singing uttered a loud ching-ching, as if alarmed at her change of attitude; a moorhen at the other end of the little lake scuttled into the bulrush-flags.
She stood up in the sunshine, lowering her sunshade, drawn to her full height, her features set, a slight flush on her cheeks. A silent and unchangeable resolve had been forming in her mind. She would, she must, she would have him with her. If he did not love her -- if he could not love her -- there was the end. But he should be in her society; he should feel her presence; he should see the meaning in her eyes; if she had any beauty he should come within reach of its power. He should talk with her, sit by her, do as she was doing; not once, or now and then -- continually, till by degrees his heart warmed, if it could warm towards her.