Explore "Diverging Roads" by Rose Wilder Lane on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
At ten o'clock on a bright June morning Helen Kennedy tiptoed across a darkened bedroom and closed its door softly behind her. Her tenseness relaxed with a sigh of relief when the door shut with the tiniest of muffled clicks and the stillness behind its panels remained unbroken.
Sunlight streamed through the windows of the sitting-room, throwing a quivering pattern of the lace curtains on the velvet carpet and kindling a glow of ruddy color where it touched mahogany chairs and a corner of the big library table. She moved quickly to one of the broad windows and carefully raised a lower sash. The low roar of the stirring city rushed in like the noise of breakers on a faraway beach, and clean, tingling air poured upon her. She breathed it in deeply, drawing the blue silk negligee closer about her throat.