Of all the hours of an ordinary working week– day, which are
the pleasantest to look forward to and to look back upon? If a single instance
is of use in framing a theory, it may be said that the minutes between
nine–twenty– five and nine–thirty in the morning had a singular charm for Mary
Datchet. She spent them in a very enviable frame of mind; her contentment was
almost unalloyed. High in the air as her flat was, some beams from the morning
sun reached her even in November, striking straight at curtain, chair, and
carpet, and painting there three bright, true spaces of green, blue, and
purple, upon which the eye rested with a pleasure which gave physical warmth to
the body.
Night and Day (77)
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