Richard was amazed: Ruperta ditto.
The little woman had never dealt in "Noes," least of all to her
husband; and besides this was such a plump "No." It came out of her
mouth like a marble.
I think the sound surprised even herself a little, for she proceeded to
justify it at once. "I have been a better wife than a Christian this
many years. But there's a limit. And, Richard, I should never have
married you if you had told me we were to be at war all our lives with
our next neighbor, that everybody respects. To live in the country, and
not speak to our only neighbor, that is a life I never would have left
my father's house for. Not that I complain: if you have been bitter to
them, you have always been good and kind to me; and I hope I have done
my best to deserve it; but when a sick lady, and perhaps dying, holds
out her hand to me---write her one of your cold-blooded letters! That I
WON'T. Reply? my reply will be just putting on my bonnet and going to
her this afternoon. It is Passion-week, too; and that's not a week to
play the heathen. Poor lady! I've seen in her sweet eyes this many
years that she would gladly be friends with me; and she never passed me
close but she bowed to me, in church or out, even when we were at
daggers drawn. She is a lady, a real lady, every inch.
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