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Alma-Tadema, Laurence, 1865?-1940

"The Wings of Icarus Being the Life of one Emilia Fletcher"

I have only just come upstairs; I have been shaking in the
dark. They are beasts; I hate them all. I was sitting playing
cribbage with grandmamma after supper, when Uncle George was
announced. He wanted to speak to me, he said. I took him into the
breakfast room, and there he told me in a fat pompous voice that
I--O Dio, my blood still burns to think of it, and the way in which
he said it--that I was getting myself talked about in the
neighbourhood; that probably I didn't know, owing to my foreign
education, that it wasn't the thing here in England to let oneself
be seen constantly alone in the company of a young man; that he
thought it his duty, etc., etc.
"Thank you," said I,--my very skin felt tight,--"I see that I must
be more underhand in my actions, and contrive to see my friends
entirely on the sly."
"Excuse me, my dear niece," interrupted Uncle George, "but I feel it
my duty to fill a father's place by you. It isn't as if you could
possibly marry this young Norton; he hasn't a penny; and as it is
now some time since first the rumour of your very careless behaviour
reached my ears, I have been able to make full inquiries into the
matter.


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