night-gown [I cannot learn, by the way, that Bulfinch's studious and in
general trustworthy researches have put him in possession of this point.
Indeed, I feel justified in asserting that Mr. Bulfinch never so much as
_intimated_ that the Lady of Shalott wore a brown calico
night-dress]--the Lady of Shalott lay quite still, and her lips turned
blue.

"Are you very much hurt? Where were you struck? I heard the cry, and
came. Can you tell me where the blow was?"

But then the doctor saw the glass, broken and blown in a thousand
glittering sparks across the palace floor; and then the Lady of Shalott
gave him a little blue smile.

"It's not me. Never mind. I wish it was. I'd rather it was me than the
glass. O, my glass! my glass! But never mind. I suppose there'll be some
other--pleasant thing."

"Were you so fond of the glass?" asked the doctor, taking one of the two
chairs that Sary Jane brought him, and looking sorrowfully about the
room. What other "pleasant thing" could even the Lady of Shalott
discover in that room last summer, at the east end of South Street?

"How long have you lain here?" asked the sorrowful doctor, suddenly.

"Since I can remember, sir," said the Lady of Shalott, with that blue
smile. "But then I have always had my glass."

"Ah!" said the doctor, "the Lady of Shalott!"