These sentences are leftover bits from my sequel to "The Portrait of a Lady" by Henry James. At my blog theportraitofaladyrevisited.blogspot.com you will find the actual first chapter. See sixsentences.blogspot.com for the origins of writing a story in six sentences.
Arriving in Rome in the early morning hours, a musky, heavy-lidded hour when quietude is replaced by the first urban clangings, darkness dissipates and a new day dawns, for Isabel Osmond, it did not feel like a new day but a continuation of a thing damaged, a return not as the same woman nor she suspected, to the same husband--the terms of their marriage requiring modification--she was no longer taking orders nor accepting second-class treatment from her husband.
That the man, Gilbert Osmond, married her for her money, set up by his former mistress to marry a fortune, made Isabel feel dreary with defeat riding the train through the night over a cold distant Europe that did not play fair, did not give the former Isabel Archer her due but took from her much more than money: as Isabel Osmond, she would never again have an easy trust but perhaps at the age of twenty-seven it was just as well considering where it had gotten her.
Isabel telegraphed Osmond of her impending arrival--she received no response--was apprehensive not knowing what would be awaiting her return but fully realizing her husband did not take disobedience lightly and Isabel had greatly vexed her husband by traveling to England to sit with her cousin, Ralph Touchett, as he lay dying, (Gilbert Osmond did not communicate with mavericks, would be certain, could be depended upon to hammer into her psyche)she held no illusions or hopes of finding an improved disposition in her husband.
Osmond married her for her money and now disliked entirely what or who was Isabel herself in inverse proportion to how much he adored the money; he who had for years denounced all that came with position, possession and power succumbed to the disorderly base action of marrying a woman who not only controlled the purse strings but would, if Osmond wasn’t careful, control him--too piteous to comprehend--but he had lost leverage and was possibly to be put in the position of feigning forgiveness of which he had little stomach for--no, she would have to be made to kneel, only this would suffice.
Osmond, pacing intently about his study was not as confident as might be perceived; he did not know what were his wife’s plans, she exasperated him, he had no patience with her ideas and most especially her friends and disliked the uncertainty her absence had produced for himself and within his household, aware the servants were talking, speculating on whether she would return at all.
How they would carry on as husband and wife, he cared little for at this point; his wife ceased to interest him shortly after the death of their son though divorce was unthinkable, better she should die but that was unlikely--he had not yet stooped to murder despite escalating a power struggle that left him no choice but to win--and he would win, of this Osmond was certain; it would be a good month before his frost would yield to summer but a reconciliation was in his best interest, would unfortunately have to be, Dreadful woman! he spat, only to find her standing in the doorway of his study, a grim countenance indeed, once again failing to show respect with her refusal to knock first.
Henry James wrote long convoluted sentences and although I am not comparing my writing to the master, it is fun to run on my sentences for the sake of brevity in six sentences, pretending I am writing in the 19th century.
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