Explore "Olive" by Dinah Mulock on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Midnight was long past, and yet Olive sat at her desk; she had finished her note to Mrs. Gwynne, and was poring over a small packet of letters carefully separated from the remainder of her correspondence. If she had been asked the reason of this, perhaps she would have made answer that they were unlike the rest -- solemn in character, and secret withal. She never looked at them but her expression changed; when she touched them she did it softly and tremulously, as one would touch a living sacred thing.
They were letters which at intervals during his various absences she had received from Harold Gwynne.