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The Warden | Anthony Trollope | |
X. Tribulation |
Page 4 of 6 |
He was still sitting in the same chair and the same posture, having hardly moved a limb for two hours, when Eleanor came back to tea, and succeeded in bringing him with her into the drawing-room. The tea seemed as comfortless as the dinner, though the warden, who had hitherto eaten nothing all day, devoured the plateful of bread and butter, unconscious of what he was doing. Eleanor had made up her mind to force him to talk to her, but she hardly knew how to commence: she must wait till the urn was gone, till the servant would no longer be coming in and out. At last everything was gone, and the drawing-room door was permanently closed; then Eleanor, getting up and going round to her father, put her arm round his neck, and said, 'Papa, won't you tell me what it is?' 'What what is, my dear?' 'This new sorrow that torments you; I know you are unhappy,papa.' 'New sorrow! it's no new sorrow, my dear; we have all our cares sometimes'; and he tried to smile, but it was a ghastly failure; 'but I shouldn't be so dull a companion; come, we'll have some music.' 'No, papa, not tonight--it would only trouble you tonight'; and she sat upon his knee, as she sometimes would in their gayest moods, and with her arm round his neck, she said: 'Papa, I will not leave you till you talk to me; oh, if you only knew how much good it would do to you, to tell me of it all.' The father kissed his daughter, and pressed her to his heart; but still he said nothing: it was so hard to him to speak of his own sorrows; he was so shy a man even with his own child! |
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The Warden Anthony Trollope |
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