Browsing named entities in a specific section of Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1.
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or the expected guest, of dress for the afternoon reception, then drop back into Aristotle or Aeschylus with a happy sigh.
It was less easy to break off when she was writing; we might be begged for half a moment, as if our time were fully as precious as her own; but there was none of the distress that interruption brought in earlier years.
Perhaps she took her writing less seriously.
She often said, Oh, my dear, I am beginning to realize at last that I shall never write my book now, my Magnum Opus, that was to be so great
She practised her scales faithfully every day, through the later years.
Then she would play snatches of forgotten operas, and the granddaughter would hear her — if she thought no one was near — singing the brilliant arias in a sweet thread of a voice.
After her practising, if she were alone, she would sit at the window and play her Twilight Game: counting the passing, one for a biped, two for a quadruped, ten for a white horse, and so on.
In the evening