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They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms.
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This video was uploaded to launchmysitenow.com on 26-06-2024 06:46:30
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