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Eliot, George, 1819-1880

"Middlemarch"

Garth. I am out of spirits.
My father is so cut up--home is not like itself. I can't bear any
more bad news."
"Should you call it bad news to be told that you were to live
at Stone Court, and manage the farm, and be remarkably prudent,
and save money every year till all the stock and furniture were
your own, and you were a distinguished agricultural character,
as Mr. Borthrop Trumbull says--rather stout, I fear, and with the
Greek and Latin sadly weather-worn?"
"You don't mean anything except nonsense, Mary?" said Fred,
coloring slightly nevertheless.
"That is what my father has just told me of as what may happen,
and he never talks nonsense," said Mary, looking up at Fred now,
while he grasped her hand as they walked, till it rather hurt her;
but she would not complain.
"Oh, I could be a tremendously good fellow then, Mary, and we could
be married directly."
"Not so fast, sir; how do you know that I would not rather defer
our marriage for some years? That would leave you time to misbehave,
and then if I liked some one else better, I should have an excuse
for jilting you."
"Pray don't joke, Mary," said Fred, with strong feeling. "Tell me
seriously that all this is true, and that you are happy because of it--
because you love me best."
"It is all true, Fred, and I am happy because of it--because I love
you best," said Mary, in a tone of obedient recitation.


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