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Moore, George (George Augustus), 1852-1933

"Vain Fortune"

Let me hear all
about your fresh discoveries.'
It was a thin November day: leaves were whirling on the lawn, and at that
moment one blew rustling down the window-pane. And, even as it, she seemed
a passing thing. Her face was like a plate of fine white porcelain, and the
deep eyes filled it with a strange and magnetic pathos; the abundant
chestnut hair hung in the precarious support of a thin tortoiseshell; and
there was something unforgetable in the manner in which her aversion for
the elder woman betrayed itself--a mere nothing, and yet more impressive
than any more obvious and therefore more vulgar expression of dislike would
have been.
'A little patience, Emily. You will not have me here much longer.'
'I suppose that I am so disagreeable that you cannot live with me. Why
should you go away?'
'My dear Emily, you must not excite yourself. The doctor----'
'I want to know why she said she was going to leave. Has she been
complaining about me to you? What is her reason for wanting to go?'
'We do not get on together as we used to--that is all, Emily. I can please
you no longer.'
'It is not my fault if we do not get on. I don't see why we shouldn't, and
I do not want you to go.'
'Emily, dear, everything shall be as you like it.


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