Vexed
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such a blow with it on the head that he gave him a badly broken pate;
then, all being in darkness, he went out, and Sancho Panza said, "That is
certainly the enchanted Moor, Senor, and he keeps the treasure for others, and
for us only the cuffs and lamp-whacks." "That is the truth,"
answered Don Quixote, "and there is no use in troubling oneself about
these matters of enchantment or being angry or vexed
at them, for as they are invisible and visionary we shall find no one on whom
to avenge ourselves, do what we may; rise, Sancho, if thou canst, and call the
alcaide of this fortress, and get him to give me a little oil, wine, salt, and
rosemary to make the salutiferous balsam, for indeed I believe I have great
need of it now, because I am losing much blood from the wound that phantom gave
me." Sancho got up with pain enough in his bones, and went after the
innkeeper in the dark, and meeting the officer, who was looking to see what had
become of his enemy, he said to him, "Senor, whoever you are, do us the
favour and kindness to give us a little rosemary, oil, salt, and wine, for it
is wanted to cure one of the best knights-errant on earth, who lies on yonder
bed wounded by the hands of the enchanted Moor that is in this inn." When
the officer heard him talk in this way, he took him for a man out of his
senses, and as day was now beginning to break, he opened the inn gate
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of paint for her face; but let her carry what she did, I am not going to
trouble myself to prove it; all I say is, that the shepherd, they say, came
with his flock to cross over the river Guadiana, which was at that time swollen
and almost overflowing its banks, and at the spot he came to there was neither
ferry nor boat nor anyone to carry him or his flock to the other side, at which
he was much vexed, for he perceived that
Torralva was approaching and would give him great annoyance with her tears and
entreaties; however, he went looking about so closely that he discovered a
fisherman who had alongside of him a boat so small that it could only hold one
person and one goat; but for all that he spoke to him and agreed with him to
carry himself and his three hundred goats across. The fisherman got into the
boat and carried one goat over; he came back and carried another over; he came
back again, and again brought over another--let your worship keep count of the
goats the fisherman is taking across, for if one escapes the memory there will
be an end of the story, and it will be impossible to tell another word of it.
To proceed, I must tell you the landing place on the other side was miry and
slippery, and the fisherman lost a great deal of time in going and coming;
still he returned for another goat, and another, and another." "Take
it for granted he brought them all across
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must know, friend Sancho, that of Heaven's will I was born in this our
iron age to revive in it the golden or age of gold; I am he for whom are
reserved perils, mighty achievements, valiant deeds;" and here he went on
repeating the words that Don Quixote uttered the first time they heard the
awful strokes. Don Quixote, then, seeing that Sancho was turning him into
ridicule, was so mortified and vexed that he
lifted up his pike and smote him two such blows that if, instead of catching
them on his shoulders, he had caught them on his head there would have been no
wages to pay, unless indeed to his heirs. Sancho seeing that he was getting an
awkward return in earnest for his jest, and fearing his master might carry it
still further, said to him very humbly, "Calm yourself, sir, for by God I
am only joking." "Well, then, if you are joking I am not,"
replied Don Quixote. "Look here, my lively gentleman, if these, instead of
being fulling hammers, had been some perilous adventure, have I not, think you,
shown the courage required for the attempt and achievement? Am I, perchance,
being, as I am, a gentleman, bound to know and distinguish sounds and tell
whether they come from fulling mills or not; and that, when perhaps, as is the
case, I have never in my life seen any as you have, low boor as you are, that
have been born and bred among them? But turn me these six hammers into
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beard. And so I will stay where I am, as the chaplain does not take me
away; and if Jupiter, as the barber has told us, will not send rain, here am I,
and I will rain when I please. I say this that Master Basin may know that I
understand him." "Indeed, Senor Don Quixote," said the barber, "I
did not mean it in that way, and, so help me God, my intention was good, and
your worship ought not to be vexed."
"As to whether I ought to be vexed or
not," returned Don Quixote, "I myself am the best judge."
Hereupon the curate observed, "I have hardly said a word as yet; and I
would gladly be relieved of a doubt, arising from what Don Quixote has said,
that worries and works my conscience." "The senor curate has leave
for more than that," returned Don Quixote, "so he may declare his
doubt, for it is not pleasant to have a doubt on one's conscience."
"Well then, with that permission," said the curate, "I say my
doubt is that, all I can do, I cannot persuade myself that the whole pack of
knights-errant you, Senor Don Quixote, have mentioned, were really and truly
persons of flesh and blood, that ever lived in the world; on the contrary, I
suspect it to be all fiction, fable, and falsehood, and dreams told by men
awakened from sleep, or rather still half asleep." "That is another
mistake," replied Don Quixote, "into which many have fallen who do
not believe that there ever were such knights in the world, and I
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to the ears of princes, times would be different, and other ages would be
reckoned iron ages more than ours, which I hold to be the golden of these
latter days. Profit by this advice, Sancho, and report to me clearly and
faithfully the truth of what thou knowest touching what I have demanded of
thee." "That I will do with all my heart, master," replied
Sancho, "provided your worship will not be vexed
at what I say, as you wish me to say it out in all its nakedness, without
putting any more clothes on it than it came to my knowledge in." "I
will not be vexed at all," returned Don Quixote;
"thou mayest speak freely, Sancho, and without any beating about the
bush." "Well then," said he, "first of all, I have to tell
you that the common people consider your worship a mighty great madman, and me
no less a fool. The hidalgos say that, not keeping within the bounds of your
quality of gentleman, you have assumed the 'Don,' and made a knight of yourself
at a jump, with four vine-stocks and a couple of acres of land, and never a
shirt to your back. The caballeros say they do not want to have hidalgos
setting up in opposition to them, particularly squire hidalgos who polish their
own shoes and darn their black stockings with green silk."
"That," said Don Quixote, "does not apply to me, for I always go
well dressed and never patched; ragged I may be, but ragged more from the wear
and tear of arms than of time." "As to your worship's valour,
courtesy, accomplishments, and task, there is a variety of opinions. Some say,
'mad but droll
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candid feast and festival, which lasted until night; and thus dragged
away, he moodily followed his master, who accompanied Basilio's party, and left
behind him the flesh-pots of Egypt; though in his heart he took them with him,
and their now nearly finished skimmings that he carried in the bucket conjured
up visions before his eyes of the glory and abundance of the good cheer he was
losing. And so, vexed and dejected though not
hungry, without dismounting from Dapple he followed in the footsteps of
Rocinante. CHAPTER XXII. WHERIN IS RELATED THE GRAND ADVENTURE OF THE CAVE OF
MONTESINOS IN THE HEART OF LA MANCHA, WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE BROUGHT TO
A HAPPY TERMINATION Many and great were the attentions shown to Don Quixote by
the newly married couple, who felt themselves under an obligation to him for
coming forward in defence of their cause; and they exalted his wisdom to the
same level with his courage, rating him as a Cid in arms, and a Cicero in
eloquence. Worthy Sancho enjoyed himself for three days at the expense of the
pair, from whom they learned that the sham wound was not a scheme arranged with
the fair Quiteria, but a device of Basilio's, who counted on exactly the result
they had seen; he confessed, it is true, that he had confided his idea to some
of his friends, so that at the proper time they might aid him in his purpose
and insure the success
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thy subjects will take the government from thee, or there will be revolts
among them. Tell me, where dost thou pick them up, thou booby? How dost thou
apply them, thou blockhead? For with me, to utter one and make it apply
properly, I have to sweat and labour as if I were digging." "By God,
master mine," said Sancho, "your worship is making a fuss about very
little. Why the devil should you be vexed if I
make use of what is my own? And I have got nothing else, nor any other stock in
trade except proverbs and more proverbs; and here are three just this instant
come into my head, pat to the purpose and like pears in a basket; but I won't
repeat them, for 'sage silence is called Sancho.'" "That, Sancho,
thou art not," said Don Quixote; "for not only art thou not sage
silence, but thou art pestilent prate and perversity; still I would like to
know what three proverbs have just now come into thy memory, for I have been
turning over mine own--and it is a good one--and none occurs to me."
"What can be better," said Sancho, "than 'never put thy thumbs
between two back teeth;' and 'to "get out of my house" and "what
do you want with my wife?" there is no answer;' and 'whether the pitcher
hits the stove, or the stove the pitcher, it's a bad business for the pitcher;'
all which fit to a hair? For no one should quarrel with his governor, or him in
authority over him, because
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one take him from me; leave me hand to hand with this demon, this wizard,
this enchanter; I will teach him, I myself, who Don Quixote of La Mancha
is." The cat, however, never minding these threats, snarled and held on;
but at last the duke pulled it off and flung it out of the window. Don Quixote
was left with a face as full of holes as a sieve and a nose not in very good
condition, and greatly vexed that they did not
let him finish the battle he had been so stoutly fighting with that villain of
an enchanter. They sent for some oil of John's wort, and Altisidora herself
with her own fair hands bandaged all the wounded parts; and as she did so she
said to him in a low voice. "All these mishaps have befallen thee,
hardhearted knight, for the sin of thy insensibility and obstinacy; and God
grant thy squire Sancho may forget to whip himself, so that that dearly beloved
Dulcinea of thine may never be released from her enchantment, that thou mayest
never come to her bed, at least while I who adore thee am alive." To all
this Don Quixote made no answer except to heave deep sighs, and then stretched
himself on his bed, thanking the duke and duchess for their kindness, not
because he stood in any fear of that bell-ringing rabble of enchanters in cat
shape, but because he recognised their good intentions in coming to his rescue.
The duke and duchess left him to repose and with
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figure and a brave show at Court, my husband will come to be known far
more by me than I by him, for of course plenty of people will ask, "Who
are those ladies in that coach?" and some servant of mine will answer,
"The wife and daughter of Sancho Panza, governor of the island of
Barataria;" and in this way Sancho will become known, and I'll be thought
well of, and "to Rome for everything." I am as vexed as vexed can be
that they have gathered no acorns this year in our village; for all that I send
your highness about half a peck that I went to the wood to gather and pick out
one by one myself, and I could find no bigger ones; I wish they were as big as
ostrich eggs. Let not your high mightiness forget to write to me; and I will
take care to answer, and let you know how I am, and whatever news there may be
in this place, where I remain, praying our Lord to have your highness in his
keeping and not to forget me. Sancha my daughter, and my son, kiss your
worship's hands. She who would rather see your ladyship than write to you, Your
servant, TERESA PANZA. All were greatly amused by Teresa Panza's letter, but
particularly the duke and duchess; and the duchess asked Don Quixote's opinion
whether they might open the letter that had come for the governor, which she
suspected must be very good. Don Quixote said that to gratify them he would open
it, and did so, and found
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claims me for a wife; I am thankful to him for the same, for I had rather
be the lawful wife of a lacquey than the cheated mistress of a gentleman;
though he who played me false is nothing of the kind." To be brief, all
the talk and all that had happened ended in Tosilos being shut up until it was
seen how his transformation turned out. All hailed Don Quixote as victor, but
the greater number were vexed and disappointed
at finding that the combatants they had been so anxiously waiting for had not
battered one another to pieces, just as the boys are disappointed when the man
they are waiting to see hanged does not come out, because the prosecution or
the court has pardoned him. The people dispersed, the duke and Don Quixote
returned to the castle, they locked up Tosilos, Dona Rodriguez and her daughter
remained perfectly contented when they saw that any way the affair must end in
marriage, and Tosilos wanted nothing else. CHAPTER LVII. WHICH TREATS OF HOW
DON QUIXOTE TOOK LEAVE OF THE DUKE, AND OF WHAT FOLLOWED WITH THE WITTY AND
IMPUDENT ALTISIDORA, ONE OF THE DUCHESS'S DAMSELS Don Quixote now felt it right
to quit a life of such idleness as he was leading in the castle; for he fancied
that he was making himself sorely missed by suffering himself to remain shut up
and inactive amid the countless luxuries and enjoyments his hosts lavished upon
him as a knight
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he had thrown me: neither was he ever restored to favour; for soon after
the queen bestowed him on a lady of high quality, so that I saw him no more, to
my very great satisfaction; for I could not tell to what extremities such a
malicious urchin might have carried his resentment.
He had before served me a scurvy trick, which set the queen a-laughing,
although at the same time she was heartily vexed,
and would have immediately cashiered him, if I had not been so generous as to
intercede. Her majesty had taken a marrow-bone upon her plate, and, after
knocking out the marrow, placed the bone again in the dish erect, as it stood
before; the dwarf, watching his opportunity, while Glumdalclitch was gone to
the side-board, mounted the stool that she stood on to take care of me at meals,
took me up in both hands, and squeezing my legs together, wedged them into the
marrow bone above my waist, where I stuck for some time, and made a very
ridiculous figure. I believe it was near a minute before any one knew
what was become of me; for I thought it below me to cry out. But, as
princes seldom get their meat hot, my legs were not scalded, only my stockings
and breeches in a sad condition. The dwarf, at my entreaty, had no other
punishment than a sound whipping.
I was frequently rallied by the queen upon account of my fearfulness; and she
used to ask me whether the
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he had thrown me: neither was he ever restored to favour; for soon after
the queen bestowed him on a lady of high quality, so that I saw him no more, to
my very great satisfaction; for I could not tell to what extremities such a
malicious urchin might have carried his resentment.
He had before served me a scurvy trick, which set the queen a-laughing,
although at the same time she was heartily vexed,
and would have immediately cashiered him, if I had not been so generous as to
intercede. Her majesty had taken a marrow-bone upon her plate, and, after
knocking out the marrow, placed the bone again in the dish erect, as it stood
before; the dwarf, watching his opportunity, while Glumdalclitch was gone to
the side-board, mounted the stool that she stood on to take care of me at
meals, took me up in both hands, and squeezing my legs together, wedged them
into the marrow bone above my waist, where I stuck for some time, and made a
very ridiculous figure. I believe it was near a minute before any one
knew what was become of me; for I thought it below me to cry out. But, as
princes seldom get their meat hot, my legs were not scalded, only my stockings
and breeches in a sad condition. The dwarf, at my entreaty, had no other
punishment than a sound whipping.
I was frequently rallied by the queen upon account of my fearfulness; and she
used to ask me whether the
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those to whom he had always been civil." By tales like these
is the envy raised by superior abilities every day gratified. When they
are attacked every one hopes to see them humbled; what is hoped is readily
believed, and what is believed is confidently told. Dryden had been more
accustomed to hostilities than that such enemies should break his quiet; and,
if we can suppose him vexed, it would be hard to
deny him sense enough to conceal his uneasiness.
"The City Mouse and Country Mouse" procured its authors more solid
advantages than the pleasure of fretting Dryden, for they were both speedily
preferred. Montague, indeed, obtained the first notice with some degree
of discontent, as it seems, in Prior, who probably knew that his own part of
the performance was the best. He had not, however, much reason to
complain, for he came to London and obtained such notice that (in 1691) he was
sent to the Congress at the Hague as secretary to the embassy. In this
assembly of princes and nobles, to which Europe has perhaps scarcely seen
anything equal, was formed the grand alliance against Louis, which at last did
not produce effects proportionate so the magnificence of the transaction.
The conduct of Prior, in this splendid initiation into public business, was so
pleasing to King William, that he made him one of the gentle
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in human life, the world is the proper judge: to despise its sentence, if
it were possible, is not just; and if it were just, is not possible. Pope
was far enough from this unreasonable temper; he was sufficiently a fool to
fame, and his fault was that he pretended to neglect it. His levity
and his sullenness were only in his letters; he passed through common life,
sometimes vexed, and sometimes pleased, with the
natural emotions of common men. His scorn of the great is repeated too
often to be real; no man thinks much of that which he despises; and as
falsehood is always in danger of inconsistency, he makes it his boast at
another time that he lives among them. It is evident that his own
importance swells often in his mind. He is afraid of writing, lest the
clerks of the post-office should know his secrets; he has many enemies; he
considers himself as surrounded by universal jealousy: "After many deaths,
and many dispersions, two or three of us," says he, "may still be
brought together, not to plot, but to divert ourselves, and the world too, if
it pleases;" and they can live together, and "show what friends wits
may be, in spite of all the fools in the world." All this while it
was likely that the clerks did not know his hand; he certainly had no more
enemies than a public character like his inevitably excites; and
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Pride-and-Prejudice_Austin.txt
evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Jane was so
admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well she looked; and Mr.
Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with her twice! Only think of
_that_, my dear; he actually danced with her twice! and she was the only
creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of all, he asked Miss
Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with
her! But, however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know;
and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance. So he
inquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the two next. Then
the two third he danced with Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas,
and the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the
_Boulanger_--" "If he had had any compassion for _me_," cried
her husband impatiently, "he would not have danced half so much! For God's
sake, say no more of his partners. O that he had sprained his ankle in the
first place!" "Oh! my dear, I am quite delighted with him. He is so
excessively handsome! And his sisters are charming women. I never in my life
saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace upon Mrs.
Hurst's gown--" Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested
against any description of finery. She was therefore obliged
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opinions on that point.'" "Upon my word! Well, that is very
decided indeed--that does seem as if--but, however, it may all come to nothing,
you know." "_My_ overhearings were more to the purpose than _yours_,
Eliza," said Charlotte. "Mr. Darcy is not so well worth listening to
as his friend, is he?--poor Eliza!--to be only just _tolerable_." "I
beg you would not put it into Lizzy's head to be vexed
by his ill-treatment, for he is such a disagreeable man, that it would be quite
a misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he sat close
to her for half-an-hour without once opening his lips." "Are you
quite sure, ma'am?--is not there a little mistake?" said Jane. "I
certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her." "Aye--because she asked him
at last how he liked Netherfield, and he could not help answering her; but she
said he seemed quite angry at being spoke to." "Miss Bingley told
me," said Jane, "that he never speaks much, unless among his intimate
acquaintances. With _them_ he is remarkably agreeable." "I do not
believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very agreeable, he would have
talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was; everybody says that he is eat
up with pride, and I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep
a carriage, and had come to the ball in a hack chaise." "I do not
mind his not talking to
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And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy, whose reception of
his advances she eagerly watched, and whose astonishment at being so addressed
was very evident. Her cousin prefaced his speech with a solemn bow and though
she could not hear a word of it, she felt as if hearing it all, and saw in the
motion of his lips the words "apology," "Hunsford," and
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh." It vexed
her to see him expose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him with
unrestrained wonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed him time to speak,
replied with an air of distant civility. Mr. Collins, however, was not
discouraged from speaking again, and Mr. Darcy's contempt seemed abundantly
increasing with the length of his second speech, and at the end of it he only
made him a slight bow, and moved another way. Mr. Collins then returned to
Elizabeth. "I have no reason, I assure you," said he, "to be
dissatisfied with my reception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the
attention. He answered me with the utmost civility, and even paid me the
compliment of saying that he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine's
discernment as to be certain she could never bestow a favour unworthily. It was
really a very handsome thought. Upon the whole, I am much pleased with
him." As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue, she
turned her attention almost
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would bestow; and she felt capable, under such circumstances, of
endeavouring even to like Bingley's two sisters. Her mother's thoughts she
plainly saw were bent the same way, and she determined not to venture near her,
lest she might hear too much. When they sat down to supper, therefore, she
considered it a most unlucky perverseness which placed them within one of each
other; and deeply was she vexed to find that her
mother was talking to that one person (Lady Lucas) freely, openly, and of
nothing else but her expectation that Jane would soon be married to Mr.
Bingley. It was an animating subject, and Mrs. Bennet seemed incapable of
fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the match. His being such a
charming young man, and so rich, and living but three miles from them, were the
first points of self-gratulation; and then it was such a comfort to think how
fond the two sisters were of Jane, and to be certain that they must desire the
connection as much as she could do. It was, moreover, such a promising thing
for her younger daughters, as Jane's marrying so greatly must throw them in the
way of other rich men; and lastly, it was so pleasant at her time of life to be
able to consign her single daughters to the care of their sister, that she
might not be obliged to go into company more than she liked. It was necessary
to make this circumstance a matter of pleasure,
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n. Come, Kitty, I want you upstairs." And, gathering her work
together, she was hastening away, when Elizabeth called out: "Dear madam,
do not go. I beg you will not go. Mr. Collins must excuse me. He can have
nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear. I am going away myself."
"No, no, nonsense, Lizzy. I desire you to stay where you are." And
upon Elizabeth's seeming really, with vexed and
embarrassed looks, about to escape, she added: "Lizzy, I _insist_ upon
your staying and hearing Mr. Collins." Elizabeth would not oppose such an
injunction--and a moment's consideration making her also sensible that it would
be wisest to get it over as soon and as quietly as possible, she sat down again
and tried to conceal, by incessant employment the feelings which were divided
between distress and diversion. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked off, and as soon
as they were gone, Mr. Collins began. "Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth,
that your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your
other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there _not_
been this little unwillingness; but allow me to assure you, that I have your
respected mother's permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the
purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to
dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken.
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which Elizabeth had long ago attributed to him, of their becoming
hereafter her own. He had certainly formed such a plan, and without meaning
that it should effect his endeavour to separate him from Miss Bennet, it is
probable that it might add something to his lively concern for the welfare of
his friend. Elizabeth's collected behaviour, however, soon quieted his emotion;
and as Miss Bingley, vexed and disappointed,
dared not approach nearer to Wickham, Georgiana also recovered in time, though
not enough to be able to speak any more. Her brother, whose eye she feared to
meet, scarcely recollected her interest in the affair, and the very
circumstance which had been designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth seemed
to have fixed them on her more and more cheerfully. Their visit did not
continue long after the question and answer above mentioned; and while Mr.
Darcy was attending them to their carriage Miss Bingley was venting her
feelings in criticisms on Elizabeth's person, behaviour, and dress. But
Georgiana would not join her. Her brother's recommendation was enough to ensure
her favour; his judgement could not err. And he had spoken in such terms of
Elizabeth as to leave Georgiana without the power of finding her otherwise than
lovely and amiable. When Darcy returned to the saloon, Miss Bingley could not
help repeating to him some part of what she had been
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nk anything less than two courses could be good enough for a man on whom
she had such anxious designs, or satisfy the appetite and pride of one who had
ten thousand a year. Chapter 54 As soon as they were gone, Elizabeth walked out
to recover her spirits; or in other words, to dwell without interruption on
those subjects that must deaden them more. Mr. Darcy's behaviour astonished and
vexed her. "Why, if he came only to be
silent, grave, and indifferent," said she, "did he come at all?"
She could settle it in no way that gave her pleasure. "He could be still
amiable, still pleasing, to my uncle and aunt, when he was in town; and why not
to me? If he fears me, why come hither? If he no longer cares for me, why
silent? Teasing, teasing, man! I will think no more about him." Her
resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by the approach of her
sister, who joined her with a cheerful look, which showed her better satisfied
with their visitors, than Elizabeth. "Now," said she, "that this
first meeting is over, I feel perfectly easy. I know my own strength, and I
shall never be embarrassed again by his coming. I am glad he dines here on
Tuesday. It will then be publicly seen that, on both sides, we meet only as common
and indifferent acquaintance." "Yes, very indifferent indeed,"
said Elizabeth, laughingly. "Oh, Jane, take care." "My dear
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g here again with our dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so tiresome
as to be always coming here? I had no notion but he would go a-shooting, or
something or other, and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with
him? Lizzy, you must walk out with him again, that he may not be in Bingley's
way." Elizabeth could hardly help laughing at so convenient a proposal;
yet was really vexed that her mother should be
always giving him such an epithet. As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at
her so expressively, and shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his
good information; and he soon afterwards said aloud, "Mrs. Bennet, have
you no more lanes hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again
to-day?" "I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty," said Mrs.
Bennet, "to walk to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and
Mr. Darcy has never seen the view." "It may do very well for the
others," replied Mr. Bingley; "but I am sure it will be too much for
Kitty. Won't it, Kitty?" Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home.
Darcy professed a great curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth
silently consented. As she went up stairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed
her, saying: "I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have
that disagreeable man all to yourself. But I hope you will not mind it: it is
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Sense-and-Sensibility_Austin.txt
s ever; and she wished to show Mrs. John Dashwood, by this pointed invitation
to her brother, how totally she disregarded her disapprobation of the match.
Mr. John Dashwood told his mother again and again how exceedingly sorry he was
that she had taken a house at such a distance from Norland as to prevent his
being of any service to her in removing her furniture. He really felt
conscientiously vexed on the occasion; for the
very exertion to which he had limited the performance of his promise to his
father was by this arrangement rendered impracticable.-- The furniture was all
sent around by water. It chiefly consisted of household linen, plate, china,
and books, with a handsome pianoforte of Marianne's. Mrs. John Dashwood saw the
packages depart with a sigh: she could not help feeling it hard that as Mrs.
Dashwood's income would be so trifling in comparison with their own, she should
have any handsome article of furniture. Mrs. Dashwood took the house for a
twelvemonth; it was ready furnished, and she might have immediate possession.
No difficulty arose on either side in the agreement; and she waited only for
the disposal of her effects at Norland, and to determine her future household,
before she set off for the west; and this, as she was exceedingly rapid in the
performance of everything that interested her, was soon done.--The horses which
were left her by her
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gs, Lady Middleton's mother, was a good-humoured, merry, fat, elderly woman,
who talked a great deal, seemed very happy, and rather vulgar. She was full of
jokes and laughter, and before dinner was over had said many witty things on
the subject of lovers and husbands; hoped they had not left their hearts behind
them in Sussex, and pretended to see them blush whether they did or not.
Marianne was vexed at it for her sister's sake,
and turned her eyes towards Elinor to see how she bore these attacks, with an
earnestness which gave Elinor far more pain than could arise from such
common-place raillery as Mrs. Jennings's. Colonel Brandon, the friend of Sir
John, seemed no more adapted by resemblance of manner to be his friend, than
Lady Middleton was to be his wife, or Mrs. Jennings to be Lady Middleton's
mother. He was silent and grave. His appearance however was not unpleasing, in
spite of his being in the opinion of Marianne and Margaret an absolute old
bachelor, for he was on the wrong side of five and thirty; but though his face
was not handsome, his countenance was sensible, and his address was
particularly gentlemanlike. There was nothing in any of the party which could
recommend them as companions to the Dashwoods; but the cold insipidity of Lady
Middleton was so particularly repulsive, that in comparison of it the gravity of
Colonel Brandon, and even the
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Sense-and-Sensibility_Austin.txt
ave owed to them?" "No," said Marianne, in a low voice,
"nor how many painful moments." Elinor took no notice of this; and directing
her attention to their visitor, endeavoured to support something like discourse
with him, by talking of their present residence, its conveniences, &c.
extorting from him occasional questions and remarks. His coldness and reserve
mortified her severely; she was vexed and half
angry; but resolving to regulate her behaviour to him by the past rather than
the present, she avoided every appearance of resentment or displeasure, and
treated him as she thought he ought to be treated from the family connection.
CHAPTER 17 Mrs. Dashwood was surprised only for a moment at seeing him; for his
coming to Barton was, in her opinion, of all things the most natural. Her joy
and expression of regard long outlived her wonder. He received the kindest
welcome from her; and shyness, coldness, reserve could not stand against such a
reception. They had begun to fail him before he entered the house, and they
were quite overcome by the captivating manners of Mrs. Dashwood. Indeed a man
could not very well be in love with either of her daughters, without extending
the passion to her; and Elinor had the satisfaction of seeing him soon become
more like himself. His affections seemed to reanimate towards them all, and his
interest in their welfare
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Sense-and-Sensibility_Austin.txt
st leave them at the end of a week, in spite of their wishes and his own,
and without any restraint on his time. Elinor placed all that was astonishing
in this way of acting to his mother's account; and it was happy for her that he
had a mother whose character was so imperfectly known to her, as to be the
general excuse for every thing strange on the part of her son. Disappointed,
however, and vexed as she was, and sometimes
displeased with his uncertain behaviour to herself, she was very well disposed
on the whole to regard his actions with all the candid allowances and generous
qualifications, which had been rather more painfully extorted from her, for
Willoughby's service, by her mother. His want of spirits, of openness, and of
consistency, were most usually attributed to his want of independence, and his
better knowledge of Mrs. Ferrars's disposition and designs. The shortness of
his visit, the steadiness of his purpose in leaving them, originated in the
same fettered inclination, the same inevitable necessity of temporizing with
his mother. The old well-established grievance of duty against will, parent
against child, was the cause of all. She would have been glad to know when
these difficulties were to cease, this opposition was to yield,--when Mrs.
Ferrars would be reformed, and her son be at liberty to be happy. But from such
vain wishes she was forced to
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Sense-and-Sensibility_Austin.txt
nto her hands as she spoke; and when Elinor saw the painting, whatever
other doubts her fear of a too hasty decision, or her wish of detecting
falsehood might suffer to linger in her mind, she could have none of its being
Edward's face. She returned it almost instantly, acknowledging the likeness.
"I have never been able," continued Lucy, "to give him my
picture in return, which I am very much vexed
at, for he has been always so anxious to get it! But I am determined to set for
it the very first opportunity." "You are quite in the right,"
replied Elinor calmly. They then proceeded a few paces in silence. Lucy spoke
first. "I am sure," said she, "I have no doubt in the world of
your faithfully keeping this secret, because you must know of what importance
it is to us, not to have it reach his mother; for she would never approve of
it, I dare say. I shall have no fortune, and I fancy she is an exceeding proud
woman." "I certainly did not seek your confidence," said Elinor;
"but you do me no more than justice in imagining that I may be depended
on. Your secret is safe with me; but pardon me if I express some surprise at so
unnecessary a communication. You must at least have felt that my being
acquainted with it could not add to its safety." As she said this, she
looked earnestly at Lucy, hoping to discover something in her countenance;
perhaps the falsehood
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The-Red_One_JLondon.txt
the thousandth time vainly he tried to analyse the tone-quality of that
enormous peal that dominated the land far into the strong-holds of the
surrounding tribes. The mountain gorge which was its source rang to the rising tide
of it until it brimmed over and flooded earth and sky and air. With the
wantonness of a sick man's fancy, he likened it to the mighty cry of some Titan
of the Elder World vexed with misery or wrath.
Higher and higher it arose, challenging and demanding in such profounds of
volume that it seemed intended for ears beyond the narrow confines of the solar
system. There was in it, too, the clamour of protest in that there were no ears
to hear and comprehend its utterance. - Such the sick man's fancy. Still he
strove to analyse the sound. Sonorous as thunder was it, mellow as a golden
bell, thin and sweet as a thrummed taut cord of silver--no; it was none of
these, nor a blend of these. There were no words nor semblances in his
vocabulary and experience with which to describe the totality of that sound.
Time passed. Minutes merged into quarters of hours, and quarters of hours into
half-hours, and still the sound persisted, ever changing from its initial vocal
impulse yet never receiving fresh impulse--fading, dimming, dying as enormously
as it had sprung into being. It became a confusion of troubled mutterings and
babblings and colossal whisperings
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t, and fed the fire; but more and more time he spent in his torpor,
unaware of what was day-dream and what was sleep-dream in the content of his
unconsciousness. And here, in the unforgetable crypts of man's unwritten
history, unthinkable and unrealizable, like passages of nightmare or impossible
adventures of lunacy, he encountered the monsters created of man's first
morality that ever since have vexed him into the
spinning of fantasies to elude them or do battle with them. In short, weighted
by his seventy years, in the vast and silent loneliness of the North, Old
Tarwater, as in the delirium of drug or anaesthetic, recovered within himself,
the infantile mind of the child-man of the early world. It was in the dusk of
Death's fluttery wings that Tarwater thus crouched, and, like his remote
forebear, the child-man, went to myth-making, and sun-heroizing, himself
hero-maker and the hero in quest of the immemorable treasure difficult of
attainment. Either must he attain the treasure--for so ran the inexorable logic
of the shadow-land of the unconscious--or else sink into the all- devouring
sea, the blackness eater of the light that swallowed to extinction the sun each
night . . . the sun that arose ever in rebirth next morning in the east, and
that had become to man man's first symbol of immortality through rebirth. All
this, in the deeps of his unconsciousness (the
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Through-the-Looking-Glass_Carroll.txt
you hear me say "Feather"?' the Sheep cried angrily, taking up
quite a bunch of needles. 'Indeed I did,' said Alice: 'you've said it very
often--and very loud. Please, where ARE the crabs?' 'In the water, of course!'
said the Sheep, sticking some of the needles into her hair, as her hands were
full. 'Feather, I say!' 'WHY do you say "feather" so often?' Alice
asked at last, rather vexed. 'I'm not a bird!'
'You are,' said the Sheep: 'you're a little goose.' This offended Alice a
little, so there was no more conversation for a minute or two, while the boat
glided gently on, sometimes among beds of weeds (which made the oars stick fast
in the water, worse then ever), and sometimes under trees, but always with the
same tall river-banks frowning over their heads. 'Oh, please! There are some
scented rushes!' Alice cried in a sudden transport of delight. 'There really
are--and SUCH beauties!' 'You needn't say "please" to ME about 'em'
the Sheep said, without looking up from her knitting: 'I didn't put 'em there,
and I'm not going to take 'em away.' 'No, but I meant--please, may we wait and
pick some?' Alice pleaded. 'If you don't mind stopping the boat for a minute.'
'How am _I_ to stop it?' said the Sheep. 'If you leave off rowing, it'll stop
of itself.' So the boat was left to drift down the stream as it would, till it
glid
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ut my head on the top of the gate--then I stand on my head--then the feet
are high enough, you see--then I'm over, you see.' 'Yes, I suppose you'd be
over when that was done,' Alice said thoughtfully: 'but don't you think it
would be rather hard?' 'I haven't tried it yet,' the Knight said, gravely: 'so
I can't tell for certain--but I'm afraid it WOULD be a little hard.' He looked
so vexed at the idea, that Alice changed the
subject hastily. 'What a curious helmet you've got!' she said cheerfully. 'Is
that your invention too?' The Knight looked down proudly at his helmet, which
hung from the saddle. 'Yes,' he said, 'but I've invented a better one than that--like
a sugar loaf. When I used to wear it, if I fell off the horse, it always
touched the ground directly. So I had a VERY little way to fall, you see--But
there WAS the danger of falling INTO it, to be sure. That happened to me
once--and the worst of it was, before I could get out again, the other White
Knight came and put it on. He thought it was his own helmet.' The knight looked
so solemn about it that Alice did not dare to laugh. 'I'm afraid you must have
hurt him,' she said in a trembling voice, 'being on the top of his head.' 'I
had to kick him, of course,' the Knight said, very seriously. 'And then he took
the helmet off again--but it took hours and hours to get me out. I was a
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Through-the-Looking-Glass_Carroll.txt
Everybody that hears me sing it--either it brings the TEARS into their
eyes, or else--' 'Or else what?' said Alice, for the Knight had made a sudden
pause. 'Or else it doesn't, you know. The name of the song is called "HADDOCKS'
EYES."' 'Oh, that's the name of the song, is it?' Alice said, trying to
feel interested. 'No, you don't understand,' the Knight said, looking a little vexed. 'That's what the name is CALLED. The name
really IS "THE AGED AGED MAN."' 'Then I ought to have said
"That's what the SONG is called"?' Alice corrected herself. 'No, you
oughtn't: that's quite another thing! The SONG is called "WAYS AND
MEANS": but that's only what it's CALLED, you know!' 'Well, what IS the
song, then?' said Alice, who was by this time completely bewildered. 'I was
coming to that,' the Knight said. 'The song really IS "A-SITTING ON A
GATE": and the tune's my own invention.' So saying, he stopped his horse
and let the reins fall on its neck: then, slowly beating time with one hand,
and with a faint smile lighting up his gentle foolish face, as if he enjoyed
the music of his song, he began. Of all the strange things that Alice saw in
her journey Through The Looking-Glass, this was the one that she always
remembered most clearly. Years afterwards she could bring the whole scene back
again, as if it had been only yesterday--
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