It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide-plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions. One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic sin. It is stripped off-the paper-in great patches all around the head of my bed, about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side of the room low down.
The paint and paper look as if a boys' school had used it.
Plain pasta wallpaper windows#
It was nursery first and then playroom and gymnasium, I should judge for the windows are barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls. It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look all ways, and air and sunshine galore. "Your exercise depends on your strength, my dear," said he, "and your food somewhat on your appetite but air you can absorb all the time." So we took the nursery at the top of the house. He said we came here solely on my account, that I was to have perfect rest and all the air I could get. I have a schedule prescription for each hour in the day he takes all care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more. He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special direction. He said there was only one window and not room for two beds, and no near room for him if he took another. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings! but John would not hear of it. I think it is due to this nervous condition.īut John says if I feel so, I shall neglect proper self-control so I take pains to control myself-before him, at least, and that makes me very tired. I'm sure I never used to be so sensitive.
I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I even said so to John one moonlight evening, but he said what I felt was a draught, and shut the window. That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid, but I don't care-there is something strange about the house-I can feel it. There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the heirs and coheirs anyhow, the place has been empty for years. There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.
Plain pasta wallpaper full#
There is a delicious garden! I never saw such a garden-large and shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them. It makes me think of English places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls and gates that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the gardeners and people. The most beautiful place! It is quite alone, standing well back from the road, quite three miles from the village. So I will let it alone and talk about the house. I sometimes fancy that my condition if I had less opposition and more society and stimulus-but John says the very worst thing I can do is to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel bad. I did write for a while in spite of them but it does exhaust me a good deal-having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition. Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change, would do me good. So I take phosphates or phosphites-whichever it is, and tonics, and journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to "work" until I am well again. My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says the same thing. If a physician of high standing, and one's own husband, assures friends and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression-a slight hysterical tendency-what is one to do? John is a physician, and perhaps-(I would not say it to a living soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my mind)- perhaps that is one reason I do not get well faster. He has no patience with faith, an intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures. John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage. Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.Įlse, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long untenanted? It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral halls for the summer.Ī colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house, and reach the height of romantic felicity-but that would be asking too much of fate!
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