Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust, and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling with a thud to the floor. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. What had Brewis Charvill to say to that, Gerald?’ ‘He had nothing to say to it. A little Cockney recovered it, and made ridiculous attempts to get to her and replace it. " "And, what good would that do?" replied Ireton, sarcastically. Ann Veronica was much impressed by a mighty trying on and altering and fussing about Alice’s “things”—Alice was being re-costumed from garret to cellar, with a walking-dress and walking-boots to measure, and a bride’s costume of the most ravishing description, and stockings and such like beyond the dreams of avarice—and a constant and increasing dripping into the house of irrelevant remarkable objects, such as— Real lace bedspread; Gilt travelling clock; Ornamental pewter plaque; Salad bowl (silver mounted) and servers; Madgett’s “English Poets” (twelve volumes), bound purple morocco; Etc. She is the wife now of another man. ‘When you say it like this, certainly it appears absurd. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood.
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