This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. You could not have aided and assisted us more effectively by trying to drown yourself in the sea. The latch came with a weak click. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. Nor, he would wager, had the heroic Monsieur Valade, who had rescued her from that life and brought her to England, taught her in that short time all that Gerald was certain she knew of men. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. “These are her rooms,” she said. I have a different game to play; and it'll be your own fault, if you don't come off the winner. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 17-09-2024 19:20:08
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