The Story of an Hour
When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her. (3)
Into this [armchair] she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul. (4)
She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will – as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been.
When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath: "free, free, free!" (10-11)