Explore "The Tunnel" by Dorothy M. Richardson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Running upstairs to Mr. Hancock's room a quarter of an hour before his arrival in the morning Miriam found herself wishing that she lived altogether at Wimpole Street. They were all so kind. Life would be simplified if she could throw in her lot with them. Coming in to breakfast after the lesson had been a sort of homecoming. There were pleasant noises about the house; the family shouted carelessly to each other on the stairs, the schoolboy slid down the banisters; the usual subdued manner of the servants was modified by an air of being a possession of the house and liking it. They rushed quietly and happily about. The very aroma of the coffee seemed tranquilly to feed one. At breakfast everyone was cheerful and kind. It was home. They were so sympathetic and amused over the adventure. The meeting in the freshness of the morning made everything easier to handle. It gave the morning a beginning and shed its brightness over the professional hush that fell upon the house at nine o'clock. It would make lunchtime more easy; and at the end of the day, if asked, she would join the family party again.
While Mr. Hancock was looking through his letters she elaborately suppressed a yawn.