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Updated: July 1, 2025
Does Annabel still pine for you?" asked Rose, recalling certain youthful jokes upon the subject of unrequited affections. "Not a bit of it. Fun has cut me out, and the fair Annabella will be Mrs. Tokio before the winter is over if I'm not much mistaken." "What, little Fun See? How droll it seems to think of him grown up and married to Annabel of all people!
So close is the connection between our tragedy and Italian novels that Marston and Ford think fit to introduce passages of Italian dialogue into the plays of 'Giovanni and Annabella' and 'Antonio and Mellida. But the best proof of the extent to which Italian life and literature had influenced our dramatists, may be easily obtained by taking down Halliwell's 'Dictionary of Old Plays, and noticing that about every third drama has an Italian title.
I must lose him for ever, and Annabella may win him, and triumph as she will. But it is not my loss nor her triumph that I deplore so greatly as the wreck of my fond hopes for his advantage, and her unworthiness of his affection, and the injury he will do himself by trusting his happiness to her. She does not love him: she thinks only of herself.
Hervey was led to suspect, notwithstanding the reasons which made it apparently improbable, that the fair Annabella was the secret cause of Mr. Vincent's frequent visits at her aunt's. It was natural that Clarence should be disposed to this opinion, from the circumstances of his own situation. During three hours that he stayed at Mrs. Luttridge's, Mr.
"Allow me to go up with Miss Annabella, and perhaps save her a journey," said I. "Messages are apt to be returned and to make further errands." "Oh, but pray do not give yourself that trouble," said Miss Annabella, glancing at her mother. "Certainly not. I cannot think of it," answered Mrs Crossland, hastily.
He never could have loved me, or he would not have resigned me so willingly, and he would not go on talking to everybody else so cheerfully as he does—laughing and jesting with Lord Lowborough and my uncle, teasing Milicent Hargrave, and flirting with Annabella Wilmot—as if nothing were on his mind. Oh! why can’t I hate him? I must be infatuated, or I should scorn to regret him as I do.
It is a hateful idea, but I cannot believe it is a false one. ‘Well,’ replied he, ‘I thought of Lord Lowborough for one; but there is no possibility of getting him without his better half, our mutual friend, Annabella; so we must ask them both. You’re not afraid of her, are you, Helen?’ he asked, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. ‘Of course not,’ I answered: ‘why should I? And who besides?’
‘It is this,’ resumed he: ‘that Annabella Wilmot, in comparison with you, is like a flaunting peony compared with a sweet, wild rosebud gemmed with dew—and I love you to distraction!—Now, tell me if that intelligence gives you any pleasure. Silence again? That means yes.
And, accordingly, I received his cheerful morning salutation as calmly and coldly as my aunt could have wished, and defeated with brief answers his one or two attempts to draw me into conversation, while I comported myself with unusual cheerfulness and complaisance towards every other member of the party, especially Annabella Wilmot, and even her uncle and Mr.
Luttridge could not stand, and thought not of opposing; but whilst his horses and curricle were getting ready, she took such an affectionate leave of his dog Juba, and she protested so much that she and Annabella should not know how to live without poor Juba, that Mr.
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