Miss Gryce snored at last; she was a heavy Welshwoman, and till now her
habitual nasal strains had never been regarded by me in any other light
than as a nuisance; to-night I hailed the first deep notes with
satisfaction; I was debarrassed of interruption; my half-effaced thought
instantly revived.
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"A new servitude! There is something in that," I soliloquised (mentally,
be it understood; I did not talk aloud), "I know there is, because it
does not sound too sweet; it is not like such words as Liberty,
Excitement, Enjoyment: delightful sounds truly; but no more than sounds
for me; and so hollow and fleeting that it is mere waste of time to
listen to them. But Servitude! That must be matter of fact. Any one
may serve: I have served here eight years; now all I want is to serve
elsewhere. Can I not get so much of my own will? Is not the thing
feasible? Yes--yes--the end is not so difficult; if I had only a brain
active enough to ferret out the means of attaining it."
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