We watched her raise herself; her eyes, unseeing
The damask walls and delicate ornament,
As if she thought she heard a servant thieving,
Seemed shocked, indignant; her back was a little bent
Beneath the negligee, and still, as a wrestler
Is still with strain; her hands had come together,
Had strangely clasped and twined; it was a gesture—
Those closing hands—like lovers with each other.
They were upsetting all her years of pride.
She must have wondered at the negligence
That had not kept those clasping hands outside.
They were, she would have said, impertinent.