1 At once weary and content, I slept soon and soundly: when I awoke it was broad day.
2 After a weary process, and resting every five minutes, I succeeded in dressing myself.
3 I grew weary: it was cold, in spite of the cloak; and then I did not see the use of staying, as I was not to rouse the house.
4 Never did I weary of reading to him; never did I weary of conducting him where he wished to go: of doing for him what he wished to be done.
5 Overpowered by this time with weariness, I scarcely noticed what sort of a place the bedroom was, except that, like the schoolroom, I saw it was very long.
6 His chest heaved once, as if his large heart, weary of despotic constriction, had expanded, despite the will, and made a vigorous bound for the attainment of liberty.
7 My help had been needed and claimed; I had given it: I was pleased to have done something; trivial, transitory though the deed was, it was yet an active thing, and I was weary of an existence all passive.
8 The Sunday evening was spent in repeating, by heart, the Church Catechism, and the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters of St. Matthew; and in listening to a long sermon, read by Miss Miller, whose irrepressible yawns attested her weariness.
9 I should not shrink from you with disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you should have no watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you with untiring tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of recognition for me.