Explore "Rose of the World" by Egerton Castle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
If sleep came at all to Rosamond that night, it came with no refreshment of forgetfulness, but rather with an increase of inner struggle. Hour merged into hour until even the noisy Indian town fell into some kind of silence; but the voices in her troubled soul ceased not their clamour.
Why should she be made to do this thing, she who had asked so little of life; who had, indeed, deliberately fashioned life for herself so that it should give her but one boon -- quietude? Her pulses throbbed as if with that fever which the solicitous husband had prognosticated. How dared they?