Explore "The Hermit of Street" by Anna Katharine Green on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I should have kept my eyes for the many brilliant and interesting sights constantly offered me. Another girl would have done so. I myself might have done so, had I been over eighteen, or, had I not come from the country, where my natural love of romance had been fostered by uncongenial surroundings and a repressed life under the eyes of a severe and unsympathetic maiden aunt.
I was visiting in a house where fashionable people made life a perpetual holiday. Yet of all the pleasures which followed so rapidly, one upon another, that I have difficulty now in separating them into distinct impressions, the greatest, the only one I never confounded with any other, was the hour I spent in my window after the day's dissipations were all over, watching -- what? Truth and the necessities of my story oblige me to say -- a man's face, a man's handsome but preoccupied face, bending night after night over a study-table in the lower room of the great house in our rear.