I think it's a great piece
of impudence. I've never heard of her. Because you had her brother
upstairs, that's no reason why--But that's just like these people.
You give them an inch and--"
Jack's cheeks flushed: "But, Corinne! She's offered you a
courtesy--asked you to her house, and--"
"I don't care; I'm not going! Would you, Garry?"
The son of the Collector hesitated for a moment. He had his own
ideas of getting on in the world. They were not Jack's--his, he
knew, would never succeed. And they were not exactly Corinne's--
she was too particular. The fence was evidently the best place for
him.
"Would be rather a bore, wouldn't it?" he replied. evasively, with
a laugh. "Lives up under the roof, I guess, wears a dyed wig, got
Cousin Mary Ann's daguerreotype on the mantle, and tells you how
Uncle Ephraim--"
The door opened and Jack's aunt swept in. She never walked, or
ambled, or stepped jauntily, or firmly, or as if she wanted to get
anywhere in particular; she SWEPT in, her skirts following meekly
behind--half a yard behind, sometimes.
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