Explore "Life and Gabriella" by Ellen Glasgow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
With deliberation Gabriella walked the length of the hall to her room, turned and locked the door after she had entered, and took off her hat and wraps and put them away in the closet. Her head was still carried high and her eyes were defiant and dark in the marble-like pallor of her face. Except for her burning eyes and the scarlet line of her tightly closed lips, she looked as still and as cold as a statue.
"I'd rather die than have them know that it made any difference," she thought. "I'd rather die than have them know that I cared. " Then sinking into a chair by the dressing-table, she laid her head on her arm and wept tears, not of wounded love, but of deep and passionate anger.