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Updated: May 27, 2025
"I generally choose things with a reason, if I can." "That sounds like one of grandmamma's speeches." Then I stupidly blushed, remembering, apropos of what she had said, almost the same thing. It was when she accepted Mrs. Gurrage's invitation to the ball, where she calculated I should meet Antony. That was before she had the fainting-fit. I stared into the fire.
One terrible woman, with parted, plastered hair and an aggressive voice and rustling silks, dominated the conversation. She is the wife of the brother of the late Mr. Gurrage's partner who "died youngish." This couple come apparently every year to the best partridge drive. "Dodd" is their name. Mrs.
Gurrage's boudoir, that has straight-up, padded chairs and crimson satin, and there is my own, that is mustard yellow. Which could you bear best before dinner?" I said, laughing. "Oh! the yellow mustard is stimulating and will give me an appetite." So we walked up the stairs again together and he followed me down the thickly carpeted passage to my highly gilded shrine.
Gurrage's patronizing vulgarity! I could see grandmamma was delighted with her. Sir Antony talked to me. He asked me if I was tired, or something banal like that; his voice was distraite. I answered him gayly, and then we changed seats, and he had a conversation with grandmamma.
There were ugly negro figures from Venice, holding plates, in the passage, and stuffed bears for lamps, and such a look of newness about everything! I was taken along to Mrs. Gurrage's "budwar," as she called it. That was a room to remember!
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