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"Are you asleep?" he asked, bending down close to look at her.

"No." Her eyes gleamed bright and intense, with no sleepy
shadows, as they looked into his.

"Do you know it is past one o'clock? Come on," and he mounted
the steps and went into their room.

"Edna!" called Mr. Pontellier from within, after a few moments
had gone by.

"Don't wait for me," she answered. He thrust his head through
the door.

"You will take cold out there," he said, irritably. "What
folly is this? Why don't you come in?"

"It isn't cold; I have my shawl."

"The mosquitoes will devour you."

"There are no mosquitoes."

She heard him moving about the room; every sound indicating
impatience and irritation. Another time she would have gone in at
his request. She would, through habit, have yielded to his desire;
not with any sense of submission or obedience to his compelling wishes, but unthinkingly,
as we walk, move, sit, stand, go through the daily treadmill of the
life which has been portioned out to us.

"Edna, dear, are you not coming in soon?" he asked again, this
time fondly, with a note of entreaty.

"No; I am going to stay out here."

"This is more than folly," he blurted out. "I can't permit
you to stay out there all night. You must come in the house

With a writhing motion she settled herself more securely in
the hammock. She perceived that her will had blazed up, stubborn
and resistant. She could not at that moment have done other than
denied and resisted. She wondered if her husband had ever spoken
to her like that before, and if she had submitted to his command.
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