{"id":"01KG6YH8FSA5HP1P0SFRQAZ82Q","cid":"bafkreidvvc7wymgdpgo34xfffkzopl6fhcfy64r4ak524fnguadxh4laq4","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":604,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T07:57:55.409Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 10","source_file":"01KG6YDDF6PTWG4P7JTS5THSTD","start_line":542,"text":"sound of thunder and the fall of trees—never reading, seldom speaking,\r\nyet ever wakeful, this is what gives me my strange thoughts—for so you\r\ncall them—this weariness and wakefulness together Brother, who stands\r\nand works in open air, would I could rest like him; but mine is mostly\r\nbut dull woman’s work—sitting, sitting, restless sitting.”\r\n\r\n“But, do you not go walk at times? These woods are wide.”\r\n\r\n“And lonesome; lonesome, because so wide. Sometimes, ’tis true, of\r\nafternoons, I go a little way; but soon come back again. Better feel\r\nlone by hearth, than rock. The shadows hereabouts I know—those in the\r\nwoods are strangers.”\r\n\r\n“But the night?”\r\n\r\n“Just like the day. Thinking, thinking—a wheel I cannot stop; pure want\r\nof sleep it is that turns it.”\r\n\r\n“I have heard that, for this wakeful weariness, to say one’s prayers,\r\nand then lay one’s head upon a fresh hop pillow—”\r\n\r\n“Look!”\r\n\r\nThrough the fairy window, she pointed down the steep to a small garden\r\npatch near by—mere pot of rifled loam, half rounded in by sheltering\r\nrocks—where, side by side, some feet apart, nipped and puny, two\r\nhop-vines climbed two poles, and, gaining their tip-ends, would have\r\nthen joined over in an upward clasp, but the baffled shoots, groping\r\nawhile in empty air, trailed back whence they sprung.\r\n\r\n“You have tried the pillow, then?”\r\n\r\n“Yes.”\r\n\r\n“And prayer?”\r\n\r\n“Prayer and pillow.”\r\n\r\n“Is there no other cure, or charm?”\r\n\r\n“Oh, if I could but once get to yonder house, and but look upon whoever\r\nthe happy being is that lives there! A foolish thought: why do I think\r\nit? Is it that I live so lonesome, and know nothing?”\r\n\r\n“I, too, know nothing; and, therefore, cannot answer; but, for your\r\nsake, Marianna, well could wish that I were that happy one of the happy\r\nhouse you dream you see; for then you would behold him now, and, as you\r\nsay, this weariness might leave you.”\r\n\r\n—Enough. Launching my yawl no more for fairy-land, I stick to the\r\npiazza. It is my box-royal; and this amphitheatre, my theatre of San\r\nCarlo. Yes, the scenery is magical—the illusion so complete. And Madam\r\nMeadow Lark, my prima donna, plays her grand engagement here; and,\r\ndrinking in her sunrise note, which, Memnon-like, seems struck from the\r\ngolden window, how far from me the weary face behind it.\r\n\r\nBut, every night, when the curtain falls, truth comes in with darkness.\r\nNo light shows from the mountain. To and fro I walk the piazza deck,\r\nhaunted by Marianna’s face, and many as real a story.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 10"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG6YGB7ZRMGN7B1MPH0Y1BQ2","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG6YDDF6PTWG4P7JTS5THSTD","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG6YCG626JN4FCG8QK17CQCF","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG6YH8FME5SN7TPAEHN2SDGQ","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T07:57:55.577Z","ts":"2026-01-30T07:58:02.167Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}