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Updated: May 21, 2025
"He's been doing palmistry reading it. All about ... what's going to happen to me. Wasn't it, Alf!" Emmy disregarded her, watching Alf's too-transparent uneasiness. "You always were a little lying beast," she said, venomously. "A trickster." "You see?" Jenny said, defiantly to Alf. "What my own sister says?" "So you were. With your sailor.... And playing the fool with Alf!" Emmy's voice rose.
"Well," said Alf, instantly regretting his admission, and inclined to bluster. "Now I suppose you're satisfied?" "Awfully!" breathed Emmy. "You're a dear good soul. You're splendid, Alf!"
'Don't go away from me; don't take your hand away. I want to know all that Alice said. You haven't any secrets from me, Emmy. Why does he stay away so long? It seems years since he came to see you. It's wrong of him. There's no business ought to keep him away all this time. Look at me, and tell me what she said. 'Only that he hadn't time. Dear, you mustn't excite yourself so.
"It's the week's news." "That's all right, old girl," admonished Jenny. "I was only giving him something to think about. Poor old soul. Now, about this hat: the girls all go on at me.... Say I dress like a broker's-man. I'm going to smarten myself up. You never know what might happen. Why, I might get off with a Duke!" Emmy was overtaken by an impulse of gratitude.
She also pulled another book out which fell open on the floor, shedding rose-leaves and tinsel. The green and gold glitter of the book caught Miss Lizzie's eye. Her fingers had been tearing at bits of paper all morning until her desk was strewn. "Bring it to me," she said. Miss Lizzie took the book from Sadie and looked at it. Emmy Lou had just failed quite miserably at Problems.
When she was on speaking terms with "Them three" she nicknamed them "Thaggy, Emmy, and Meetie." Diogenes, the two-year old, was a Tartar when emulating his brothers. Alone, he was sometimes normal and a shade more like ordinary children. When they first began swarming in upon us, Silvia drew many lines which, however, the Polydores promptly effaced.
I told you, madre, my own Emmy, I forgave you for marrying, because it was a soldier. 'Perhaps a soldier is to be the happy man. But you have not told me a word of yourself. What has been done with the old Crossways? 'The house, you know, is mine. And it's all I have: ten acres and the house, furnished, and let for less than two hundred a year. Oh! how I long to evict the tenants!
"Why aren't you married?" she asked him one day. He looked up at the sky they were on the common an autumn stretch of pearls and purples, with here and there a streak of wistful blue, as if seeking the inspiration of a reason. "Because no one has married me," he replied. Emmy laughed. "That's just like you.
The man guessed, after the manner of men, and for a moment Emmy forgot Zora, who went her own way in pursuit of happiness, heedless of the wisdom of the wise and of the foolish. For five months Zora wandered over the world chiefly Italy without an experience which might be called an adventure. When the Literary Man from London crossed her mind she laughed him to scorn for a prophetic popinjay.
Septimus reddened and stammered, unable, as usual, to express his feelings. He kept to the question of interest. "It's so different," said he. "I look on the boy as a kind of invention." She persisted. "And what am I?" He had one of his luminous inspirations. "You," said he, "are a discovery." Emmy laughed. "I do believe you like me a little bit, after all."
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