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Updated: May 14, 2025
Vague, but increasingly brighter, this possibility glimmered on her. It had absolutely, within the time, taken on the dazzling merit of being large for each of them alike. "I'm glad to see you alone there's something I've been wanting to say to you. I'm tired," said Mrs. Verver, "I'm tired !"
"You're the cause," her husband declared, "of the greater part of everything that's good among us." But she received this tribute in silence, and the next moment he pursued: "If Mrs. Verver has arrears of time with you to make up, as you say, she'll scarcely do it or you scarcely will by our cutting, your and my cutting, too loose." "I see what you mean," Maggie mused.
"Well, of your not yourselves being so and of YOUR not in particular. I haven't the least doubt in the world, par exemple, that she thinks you too meek." "Oh, she thinks me too meek?" "And she had been sent for, on the very face of it, to work right in. All she had to do, after all, was to be nice to you." "To a ME?" said Adam Verver.
Except in Bond Street, really, Maggie had had no use for them: her situation indeed, in connection with that order of traffic, was full of consequences produced by her father's. Mr. Verver, one of the great collectors of the world, hadn't left his daughter to prowl for herself; he had little to do with shops, and was mostly, as a purchaser, approached privately and from afar.
But when you love in a deeper and intenser way, then you are, in the same proportion, jealous; your jealousy has intensity and, no doubt, ferocity. When, however, you love in the most abysmal and unutterable way of all why then you're beyond everything, and nothing can pull you down." Mr. Verver listened as if he had nothing, on these high lines, to oppose. "And that's the way YOU love?"
The double door of the house stood open to an effect of hazy autumn sunshine, a wonderful, windless, waiting, golden hour, under the influence of which Adam Verver met his genial friend as she came to drop into the post-box with her own hand a thick sheaf of letters.
It's not my fit I shouldn't be able, as I see it, to breathe in it. But I can feel that I'd do anything to shield it from a bruise. Tender as I am for her too," she went on, "I think I'm still more so for my husband. HE'S in truth of a sweet simplicity !" The Prince turned over a while the sweet simplicity of Mr. Verver. "Well, I don't know that I can choose. At night all cats are grey.
She had been present at that process as personally as she might have been present at some other domestic incident the hanging of a new picture, say, or the fitting of the Principino with his first little trousers. She remained present, accordingly, all the week, so charmingly and systematically did Mrs. Verver now welcome her company.
"Yes I may very well have confessed it, for so it did seem to me." But he guarded himself with his dim, his easier smile. "What do you want to put on me now?" "Only that we used to wonder that we were wondering then if our life wasn't perhaps a little selfish." This also for a time, much at his leisure, Adam Verver retrospectively fixed. "Because Fanny Assingham thought so?"
There might, as they were, have been many things. Charlotte, in her way, is extraordinary." He was almost simultaneous. "Extraordinary!" "She observes the forms," said Fanny Assingham. He hesitated. "With the Prince ?" "FOR the Prince. And with the others," she went on. "With Mr. Verver wonderfully. But above all with Maggie.
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