THE CONVENT
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lenor Murray stole away from NiceBefore her furlough ended, tense to seeSomething of Italy, and planned to goTo Genoa, explore the ancient townOf Christopher Columbus, if she mightElude the regulation, as she did,In leaving Nice for Italy. But for herAlways the dream, and always the defeatOf what she dreamed. She found herself in FlorenceAnd saw the city. But the wearinessOf labor and her illness came againAt intervals, and on such days she layAnd heard the hours toll, wished for death and wept,Being alone and sorrowful. On a morningShe rose and looked for galleries, came at lastInto the Via Gino CapponiAnd saw a little church and entered in,And saw amid the darkness of the churchA woman kneeling, knelt beside the woman,And put her hand upon the woman's foreheadTo find that it was wrinkled, strange to sayA scar upon the forehead, like a cross....Elenor Murray rose and walked away,Sobs gathering in her throat, her body weak,And reeled against the wall, for so it seemed,Against which hung thick curtains, velvet, red,A little grimed and worn. And as she leanedAgainst the curtains, clung to them, she feltA giving, parted them, and found a door,Pushed on the door which yielded, opened itAnd saw a yard before her.
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