She laughed a little contemptuously. “She can’t. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty,
struggle. She felt her chest trying to
float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason
why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked
her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged,
into the hands of God. Here the ribs of a thousand pounds beating against the Needles—
those dangerous rocks, credulity here floated, to and fro, silks, stuffs, camlets,
and velvet, without giving place to each other, according to their dignity; here
rolled so many pipes of canary, whose bungholes lying open, were so damaged
that the merchant may go hoop for his money," A less picturesque, but more
truthful, and, therefore, more melancholy description of the same scene, is
furnished by the shrewd and satirical Ned Ward, who informs us, in the
"Delectable History of Whittington's College," that "When the prisoners are
disposed to recreate themselves with walking, they go up into a spacious room,
called the Stone Hall; where, when you see them taking a turn together, it would
puzzle one to know which is the gentleman, which the mechanic, and which the
beggar, for they are all suited in the same garb of squalid poverty, making a
spectacle of more pity than executions; only to be out at the elbows is in fashion
here, and a great indecorum not to be threadbare. Don’t favour your father much,
either, if it comes to that. ”
“I told them a lie. A strong arm
pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her
senses reeling. “She’s proclaimed
herself queen of the school. I may as well think.
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This video was uploaded to pleroma.gnusocial.club on 04-07-2024 12:49:22