"Maybe if I'd read awhile it would make me sleepy," she thought, and, slipping softly out of bed, she groped her way across the room in the dark to the dressing-table.
Lighting a candle in one of the crystal candlesticks that always reminded her of twisted icicles, she put it on a stand beside her bed.
The light flickered unsteadily, but she piled the pillows up behind her and settled herself to read.
It was a new book that she was greatly interested in, and before long she was so deep in the story that she never noticed how the time was flying.

Instead of bringing sleep to her eyes, it seemed to drive it farther and farther away.

The candle burned lower and lower, but she never noticed it, and read on by its unsteady light until she heard the hall clock strike four.

The candle was flickering in its socket, and the June dawn was beginning to streak the sky.

Her eyes smarted and burned, and ached with a dull throbbing pain.
She turned over and went to sleep then, and slept so heavily that she did not hear the noises of the awakening household.