‘You do not like it?’
‘That is hardly the point. At
night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made
her own friends, gone her own way. "Ah! what is that?" he cried, pointing
to a dark object floating near them amid the boiling waves, and which presented
a frightful resemblance to a human face. She never
grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed
against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the
inner temple—Spurlock's study. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality;
they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then
frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. It runs about gayly, it
romps, it is bright and pretty, it has enormous quantities of soft hair and more
power of expressing affection than its brothers. This is not honourable. But men of the Spurlock type, who
walk straight, who are unobtrusive and intensely pale, they break swiftly and
inexplicably. If they do, now and then, run
away with a knocker, paint a sign, beat the watch, or huff a magistrate, they pay
for their pastime, and that's sufficient. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled
with gentle self-mockery. They blinded me.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 28-06-2024 07:18:08