The House on Lime Street
Yeah, the world is still sleeping while I keep on dreaming for me
And their words are just whispers and lies that I'll never believe - Johnny Rzeznik, "I'm Still Here"
Lime Street is quaint, decorated by its rambling mansions and gardens that stately ladies take deep pride in. The afternoons are lazy and quiet, with a cool sea breeze that comes in from the harbor to tease one's nose with the faint scent of sun and salt. The breeze never steals one's hat; it is as well mannered and orderly as its neighbors. The children on Lime Street are also subdued; they play inside on most days, taking high tea with their governesses; it's a rare thing when a father must reprimand his son for climbing the parapets or putting frogs in his sisters' tea.
In fact, Lime Street is a prime location for ennui.
Ennui is what Elizabeth feels most of the time, when she's not doing needlework or sitting under the rose trellis with her eyes half-closed. The walls in the back garden are low, and the cliffs overlook the harbor. There used to be lime trees in this place of contemplation and solitude,(again, semicolon or new sentence) she used to spend all day out here, just staring at the horizon from sunrise to sunset, praying for a ship with black sails that never came.
She needs this mansion on Lime Street to hide from herself, to hide from her dead dreams and her dead marriage. The sons that play with frogs are not hers, the life that she dreamed of will never come back, and the men who loved her are married to the sea.
The house on Lime Street is Elizabeth's sanctuary. It is also a madhouse, if madhouse it can be called. Her husband no longer exercises his marital rights, as they have an understanding. Her father is far away in London Town, and it is here that they have left her to rot, under the ghosts of the lime trees, weaving flowers in her hair.