The Opposite House: A Novel — page 39: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

(34 The Opposite House. him from an ancient beaker. Doubtless a sincere friendship united the families until the bitter hour when the baron’s high-born daughter fled to the house of the plebeian merchant, and with each fatal step thrust the swaying bridge down into the black abyss. Ay, the old ancestral portraits in the neighboring house could tell long stories of that unhappy time, bloody tales of hate, enmity and scorn, which the son inherited from the father. The feud was per- sistently maintained to punish the insolence, and a barrier was erected between the two houses which not even centuries could overthrow. Marie von Rotterswyl, the daughter of the old baroness, occupied the bow-window above. This was her chosen kingdom, among the flowers and twittering birds, where she could follow the dic- tates of every passing mood, rejoice with the glad sunshine or sit lost in reverie for hours before the dark oil-painting which, removed from the portrait gallery, was banished to this room under the roof. Marie knew the story of her ancestress; she had often heard her mentioned, with bitter rancor, as the only blot upon the stainless genealogy. Full of intense sympathy, Marie had carried the portrait of the exile to her little bow-windowed room, carefully wiped the cobwebs and dust from the dark frame Comicbooks.c© 5}