Olive Higgins Prouty

“ Oh, had her mother heard? Was her mother awake? No, Laurel thought not. Her breathing was heavy and slightly audible. The hand that had grasped hers so tightly a little while ago was limp and lifeless now. Her whole body was limp and lifeless. It moved slightly with the motion of the train, as unresisting as the curtains.
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Oh, had Lollie heard? Was she awake? No, Stella thought not. Her soft breathing was as regular as the swinging of a pendulum. The arm that encircled her waist was as consciousless as a sleeping baby's. ”

“ Five minutes later Stella became tearful. Laurel brought her a handkerchief.
"I should think," she wailed, after she had vigorously blown her nose and mopped her eyes, "you'd want me to have a little of the good times you've been enjoying these three weeks while I've been cooped up here in bed. I like nice people, and things going on myself. You know I do. But just the minute I am able to get out of bed and take in a little of the gayety and excitement, you let a silly quarrel with a young fellow you never saw three weeks ago cheat me of it all." ”

“ Stella had been listening to the voices for ten minutes before Laurel had become aware of them. She had heard herself described in detail, in cruel detail. She didn't suppose anybody knew that she "touched" her hair a little now and then. Why, even Lollie didn't know it. Up to two years ago it hadn't been necessary, but she did so hate the soft-boiled-egg look when yellow hair begins to turn white. Other women kept themselves young and attractive without being criticized. ”