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ENGLISH 冲田杏梨黑人老外Alice, in spite of her influenza and the shattering events of this afternoon, had something adamantine about her. She paused a moment.I meant to, she said, until I smelt the wind. Then it was impossible. I should not care if every book in the world was burned, I think. And you, not at the Cathedral this morning?Alice got up from the table where she had just written an affectionate little note to Julia, and came up to her mothers chair, quivering with apprehension.

Faithfully yours,She smiled, or he thought she smiled, and that together with her reply enraged him.He fidgeted with his papers a moment. When money concerned business, he could discuss and bargain with the nonchalance of a man who had{189} passed his life in making it. But when money began to trespass on the privacies of life, there was no one in the world more shy of mentioning it.

Keeling nodded to Charles.{94}

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You are very mysterious, dear, she said. You seem to forget that I am your mother. And if you tell me that I must speak to nobody about it yet, you may be sure I shall not do so without{225} your leave. I was always famous for my ability to keep a secret. Why, not so long ago your father told me something which I am sure will make Mrs Fyson turn quite green with odious jealousy when she hears it, and I have not breathed a word to anybody. Not a word. So dont be so mysterious, dear; I remember going to tell Mamma the moment your father spoke to me, and it was in the garden behind Mammas house; I could show you the very place, if you dont believe me.Yes, sir. They only want your signature.

Mr Keeling ceased to address the larch-trees that were the sponsors of his houses name, and turned round.Mr Silverdale got up off the hearthrug where he had been sitting nursing his knees with miraculous celerity. She behind her hidden eyes heard{208} him and knew, she felt she knew, that in another moment would come the touch of his hands on hers as he took them, and bade her look at him. Perhaps he would say, Look at me, my darling; perhaps his delicious joking ways would even at this sublimest of moments still assert themselves and he would say Peep-o! But whatever he did would be delicious, would be perfect. But no touch came on her hands, and there was a long, an awful moment of dead silence, while behind poor Alices hands the dazzle died out of her vision. Before it was broken, she perceived that beyond a shadow of doubt he did not mean her, and both were tongue-tied, he in the shame of having provoked a passion he had no use for, she in the shame of having revealed the passion he had not invited. She had come to the wrong house: she was an unbidden guest who must be directed outside the front-door again.

Order it for me, please. The man could draw, couldnt he? Look at the design of embroidery on the coat of that fellow kneeling there. Theres nothing messy about that. But it doesnt seem much of a poem as far as I can judge. Not my idea of poetry; theres more poetry in the prose of the Morte dArthur. Take a cigarette and make yourself comfortable.

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Oh, yes; I saw your name among the subscribers when I was there yesterday, she said rather hurriedly.Dont look at my feet, she said gaily. They{141} are officially invisible like the legs of the Queen of Spain.

A certain measure of relief came to poor Alice at this moment, for she observed that everybody had finished the meat-course, and she and Hugh (who had at present escaped the lash of his grandmothers tongue) and John hastily got up and began changing their elders plates, and removing dishes. This was the custom of Sunday lunch at Mrs Keelings, and a Sabbatarian design of saving the servants trouble lay at the back of it. The detail of which it took no account was that it gave Hugh and Alice and John three times as much trouble as it would have given the servants, for they made endless collisions with each other as they went round the table; two of them simultaneously tried to drag the roast beef away in opposite directions, and the gravy spoon, tipped up by Johns elbow, careered through the air with a comet-tail of congealed meat-juice behind it. Ominous sounds of side-slip from heaped plates and knives came from the dinner wagon, where the used china was piled, and some five minutes of arduous work, filled with bumpings and crashings and occasional spurts of suppressed laughter from John, who, like a true wit, was delighted with his own swift and disconcerting reply to his Granny, were needful to effect the changes required for the discussion of plum tart and that strange form of refreshment known as{23} cold shape. During these resonant minutes further conversation between the elders was impossible, but Mrs Goodford was not wasting her time, but saving up, storing her forces, reviewing her future topics.They drove on a little way in silence, for Mrs Keelings utterance got a little choked up with pride and gratification, like a congested gutter, and in all her husbands mental equipment there was nothing that could be responsive to these futilities. They evoked nothing whatever in him; he had not the soil from which they sprang, which Mrs Keeling had carted into her own psychical garden in such abundance since she had become Lady Mayoress. Besides, for the present there{250} was nothing real to him, not the lunch, not the public recognition, not the impending Club election, except that moment when he had fixed Norahs glance, drawn it to himself as on an imperishable thread across the crowded rooms, when he rose to reply. He almost wished his wife would go on talking again: her babble seemed to build a wall round him, which cutting him off by its inanity from other topics that might engage him, left him alone with Norah. Very soon his wish was fully gratified.

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Apr-11 09:31:39