Author: Owen Meredith


He enter’d
Unnoticed; Lucile never stirr’d: so concentred
And wholly absorb’d in her thoughts she appear’d.
Her back to the window was turn’d. As he near’d
The sofa, her face from the glass was reflected.
Her dark eyes were fix’d on the ground. Pale, dejected,
And lost in profound meditation she seem’d.
Softly, silently, over her droop’d shoulders stream’d
The afternoon sunlight. The cry of alarm
And surprise which escaped her, as now on her arm
Alfred Vargrave let fall a hand icily cold
And clammy as death, all too cruelly told
How far he had been from her thoughts.


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Chicago: Owen Meredith, "21," Lucile, ed. Sutherland, Alexander, 1853-1902 and trans. Seaton, R. C. in Lucile (New York: George E. Wood, ""Death-bed"" edition, 1892), Original Sources, accessed July 12, 2024,

MLA: Meredith, Owen. "21." Lucile, edited by Sutherland, Alexander, 1853-1902, and translated by Seaton, R. C., in Lucile, New York, George E. Wood, ""Death-bed"" edition, 1892, Original Sources. 12 Jul. 2024.

Harvard: Meredith, O, '21' in Lucile, ed. and trans. . cited in ""Death-bed"" edition, 1892, Lucile, George E. Wood, New York. Original Sources, retrieved 12 July 2024, from