Explore "The Insurgent Chief" by Gustave Aimard on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The painter had taken refuge in his apartments, a prey to extreme agitation.
Having reached his bedroom, he doubly locked the door; then, certain that for a time no one would come to thrust him out of this last asylum, he allowed himself to fall heavily on a _butaca_, threw his body backward, leaned his head forward, crossed his arms over his chest, and -- an extraordinary thing for an organisation like his -- he gave himself up to sad and profound reflections.