she whispered.

Then, in the final moment of this after-the-fact rehearsal, as her
face almost touched the glass, she forgot how and what she had
looked to Corliss; she forgot him; she forgot him utterly: she
leaped to her feet and kissed the mirrored lips with a sort of
passion.

"You _darling_!" she cried. Cora's christening had been
unimaginative, for the name means only, "maiden." She should
have been called Narcissa.

The rhapsody was over instantly, leaving an emotional vacuum like
a silence at the dentist's. Cora yawned, and resumed the loosening
of her hair.

When she had put on her nightgown, she went from one window to
another, closing the shutters against the coming of the morning
light to wake her. As she reached the last window, a sudden high
wind rushed among the trees outside; a white flare leaped at her
face, startling her; there was a boom and rattle as of the
brasses, cymbals, and kettle-drums of some fatal orchestra; and
almost at once it began to rain.

And with that, from the distance came a voice, singing; and at the
first sound of it, though it was far away and almost
indistinguishable, Cora started more violently than at the
lightning; she sprang to the mirror lights, put them out; threw
herself upon the bed, and huddled there in the darkness.