You must forgive the poet’s license I take. As the movie reached its predictable apex, she clutched his right knee in a careful imitation of fear. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition. Here's your health in a bumper, and wishing you a better husband than your first. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. “If it’s about that dance project,” he said, “it’s no good, Veronica. The villagers were thronging to church.
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