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Now first, it must be said that Milton is not one of the poets of inaccurate imagination. He could never, like Scott, have let the precise picture of the swan on "still Saint Mary's lake" slip into the namby-pamby "sweet Saint Mary's lake." When he intends a picture, he is unmistakably distinct; his outline is firm and hard. But he is not often intending pictures.
Mary's old nurse was overjoyed to see her, and pressed the two girls to stay and eat big soft ginger cookies on the shady back porch, and quench their thirst with glasses of cool milk, while she inquired minutely after the health of Mary's "ma" and "pa." "Mrs. Simmons is the best old nurse that ever was," said Mary to Agony, as they took their way back to the woods an hour later.
Madame de Frontignac sat down on the side of the bed with such a look of utter despair as went to Mary's heart. "You know that it is best, Virginie; do you not?" "Oh, yes, I know it; mais pourtant, c'est dur comme la mort. Ah, well, what shall Virginie do now?" "You have your husband," said Mary. "Je ne l'aime point," said Madame de Frontignac.
Calling theatres, and ships, and running horses, and mock fights, and almost every thing so by the names of Saints, whom we venerate in silence, and they themselves publicly worship, has a most profane and offensive sound with it to be sure; and shocks delicate ears very dreadfully: and I used to reprimand my maids at Milan for bringing up the blessed Virgin Mary's name on every trivial, almost on every ludicrous occasion, with a degree of sharpness they were not accustomed to, because it kept me in a constant shivering.
If the caretaker of the Château Lontana had been old and forbidding Mary's cup of misery would have overflowed, but the pleased smile of this red-lipped, full-bosomed, healthy creature gave light and warmth to the house. "Welcome, Signorina," she said in the guttural Italian of one accustomed to a patois. "It has been very lonely here since the poor Captain ceased to come.
'It is half after ten by St. Mary's clock, said Saxon, as we rode up to the regiment. 'Have we nothing to give the men? 'There is a hogshead of Zoyland cider in the yard of yonder inn, said Sir Gervas. 'Here, Dawson, do you take those gold sleeve links and give them to mine host in exchange. Broach the barrel, and let each man have his horn full.
Immediately her sympathies were aroused. Mary was far from home and mother. What if she had done wrong? She was alone among comparative strangers and who knew the exact truth of yesterday's proceedings? She crept softly to Mary's bedside. Her cousin's face was buried in the pillow, and she was shaking with sobs. Molly leaned over her.
You'll ruin your eyes didn't the doctor tell you so? You got one bum lamp right now." "Worse things than having trouble with your eyes, Annie." "Huh! It'll help you a lot to have your eyes go worse, won't it?" "But I can't forget. I I can't seem to forget Dan, my brother." Mary's voice trailed off vaguely. "He's the last kin I had.
Mary's church near to Peterhouse, where he lodged under Tertullian's roof of angels; there he made his nest more glad than David's swallow near the house of God, where like a primitive saint he offered more prayers in the night than others usually offer in the day. There he pen'd the poems called Steps to the Temple for Happy Souls to climb to Heaven by.
His two daughters will no doubt consent to be Lady Mary's bridesmaids. You will make the request in my name. Perhaps the Vicar will call this afternoon and talk matters over with me. Lady Mary and her husband will go to Cumberland for a brief honeymoon a week at most and then they will come back to Fellside. Tell Mrs. Power to prepare the east wing for them.
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