Explore "Wayfaring Men" by Edna Lyall on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"The tissue of the Life to be We weave with colours all our own, And in the field of destiny We reap as we have sown. " Whittier.
The broad staircase was covered with cocoa-nut matting, she toiled up the slippery steps feeling dazed and giddy, groping her way more by instinct than by sight to her own door. Her room was at the side of the hotel, and its French window, opening on to a little balcony, looked out over the woods of Veytaux and the distant turrets of Chillon to the Dent du Midi. She threw herself down now into the depths of an armchair, letting the soft air play on her hot cheeks, and staring out in a bewildered way at the lovely view which contrasted so strangely with her misery.