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is said to have been one of those who
entered Troy inside the wooden horse.
136 --_Forwarn'd the horrors._ The same portent has already been
mentioned. To this day, modern nations are not wholly free from this
superstition.
137 --_Sevenfold city,_ Boeotian Thebes, which had seven gates.
138 --_As when the winds._
"Thus, when a black-brow'd gust begins to rise,
White foam at first on the curl'd ocean fries;
Then roars the main, the billows moun
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for me! The
quiet, the retirement of such a life would have answered all my ideas
of happiness! But it was not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the
circumstance, when you were in Kent?”
“I have heard from authority, which I thought _as good_, that it was
left you conditionally only, and at the will of the present patron.”
“You have. Yes, there was something in _that_; I told you so from the
first, you may remember.”
“I _did_ hear, too, that there was a time, when sermon-making was not
so palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that you actually
declared your resolution of never taking orders, and that the business
had been compromised accordingly.”
“You did! and it was not wholly without foundation. You may remember
what I told you on that point, when first we talked of it.”
They were now almost at the door of the house, for she had walked fast
to get rid of him; and unwilling, for her sister's sake, to provoke him,
she only said in reply, with a good-humoured smile:
“Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do not let
us quarrel about the past. In future, I hope we shall be always of one
mind.”
She held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though
he hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.
Chapter 53
Mr. Wickham was so perfectly satisfied with this conversation that he
never again distressed himself, or provoked his dear sister Elizabeth,
by introducing the subject of it; and she was pleased to find that she
had said enough to keep him quiet.
The day of his and Lydia's departure soon came, and Mrs. Bennet was
forced to submit to a separation, which, as her husband by no means
entered into her scheme of their all going to Newcastle, was likely to
continue at least a twelvemonth.
“Oh! my dear Lydia,” she cried, “when shall we meet again?”
“Oh, lord! I don't know. Not these two or three years, perhaps.”
“Write to me very often, my dear.”
“As often as I can. But you know married women have nev