Ярмарка тщеславия

Miss Crawley at Home

           

           Coulditbethetempestwhich,asshepassedthelandingofthefirstfloor,blewopenthedrawing-roomdoor?No;itwasstealthilyopenedbythehandofBriggs.Briggshadbeenonthewatch.BriggstoowellheardthecreakingFirkindescendthestairs,andtheclinkofthespoonandgruel-basintheneglectedfemalecarried.

           "Well,Firkin?"saysshe,astheotherenteredtheapartment."Well,Jane?"

           "Wussandwuss,MissB.,"Firkinsaid,waggingherhead.

           "Isshenotbetterthen?"

           "Sheneverspokebutonce,andIaskedherifshefeltalittlemoreeasy,andshetoldmetoholdmystupidtongue.Oh,MissB.,Ineverthoughttohaveseenthisday!"Andthewater-worksagainbegantoplay.

           "WhatsortofapersonisthisMissSharp,Firkin?Ilittlethought,whileenjoyingmyChristmasrevelsintheeleganthomeofmyfirmfriends,theReverendLionelDelamereandhisamiablelady,tofindastrangerhadtakenmyplaceintheaffectionsofmydearest,mystilldearestMatilda!"MissBriggs,itwillbeseenbyherlanguage,wasofaliteraryandsentimentalturn,andhadoncepublishedavolumeofpoems—"TrillsoftheNightingale"—bysubscription.

           "MissB.,theyareallinfatyatedaboutthatyoungwoman,"Firkinreplied."SirPittwouldn’thavelethergo,buthedaredn’trefuseMissCrawleyanything.Mrs.ButeattheRectoryjistasbadneverhappyoutofhersight.TheCaptingquitewildabouther.Mr.Crawleymortialjealous.

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