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“Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. ” Her voice trembled with suppressed passion. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another.

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This video was uploaded to www.crammonduk.com on 19-03-2024 01:08:52

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