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XIII. Sortes Sanctorum—The Valentine

           

           "WhatfunitwouldbetosendittothestupidoldBoldwood,andhowhewouldwonder!"saidtheirrepressibleLiddy,liftinghereyebrows,andindulginginanawfulmirthonthevergeoffearasshethoughtofthemoralandsocialmagnitudeofthemancontemplated.

           Bathshebapausedtoregardtheideaatfulllength.Boldwood’shadbeguntobeatroublesomeimageaspeciesofDanielinherkingdomwhopersistedinkneelingeastwardwhenreasonandcommonsensesaidthathemightjustaswellfollowsuitwiththerest,andaffordhertheofficialglanceofadmirationwhichcostnothingatall.Shewasfarfrombeingseriouslyconcernedabouthisnonconformity.Still,itwasfaintlydepressingthatthemostdignifiedandvaluablemanintheparishshouldwithholdhiseyes,andthatagirllikeLiddyshouldtalkaboutit.SoLiddy’sideawasatfirstratherharassingthanpiquant.

           "No,Iwon’tdothat.Hewouldn’tseeanyhumourinit."

           "He’dworrytodeath,"saidthepersistentLiddy.

           "Really,Idon’tcareparticularlytosendittoTeddy,"remarkedhermistress."He’sratheranaughtychildsometimes."

           "Yesthatheis."

           "Let’stossasmendo,"saidBathsheba,idly."Nowthen,head,Boldwood;tail,Teddy.No,wewon’ttossmoneyonaSunday,thatwouldbetemptingthedevilindeed."

           "Tossthishymn-book;therecan’tbenosinfulnessinthat,miss."

           "Verywell.Open,Boldwoodshut,Teddy.No;it’smorelikelytofallopen.Open,Teddyshut,Boldwood."

           Thebookwentflutteringintheairandcamedownshut

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