In another, Sakuntala, with the desire of seeing Dushmanta, is
pretending to take a thorn from her foot. Anasuya and Priamboda are
smiling. Sakuntala, between anger and shame will not raise her face.
She cannot look at Dushmanta, nor yet can she leave the spot.
In another, Prince Abhimaya, armed for battle, and, like the young
lion, eager for glory, is taking leave of Uttora that he may go to the
field. Uttora, saying that she will not let him go, is standing
against the closed door weeping, with her hands over her eyes.
It was past twelve when Nagendra entered the room. The night was
fearful. Late in the evening some rain had fallen; now the wind had
risen and was blowing fiercely, the rain continuing at intervals.
Wherever the shutters were not fastened they flapped to and fro with
the noise of thunder-claps, the sashes rattling continuously. When
Nagendra closed the door the noise was less noticeable. There was
another door near the bedstead, but as the wind did not blow in that
direction he left it open. Nagendra sat on the sofa, weeping bitterly.
How often had he sat there with Surja Mukhi; what pleasant talks they
had had! Again and again Nagendra embraced that senseless seat; then
raising his face he looked at the pictures so dear to Surja Mukhi.
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