"Great care was taken to break to [Mrs. Mallard] as gently as possible the news of her husband's death. ... It was her sister Josepine who told her."
"Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door--you will make yourself ill."
"When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone....There stood, facing the open window, a ... chair. Into this she sank."
"She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will. ... She knew that she would weep again...But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely."
"[Mrs. Mallard's] fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life would be long. She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities."