It would be much better
for you than moping in your rook tower and hating everything."
"It is rather lonely down there," I murmured, apologetically,
feeling that Miss Lammas was quite right.
"Then marry, and quarrel with your wife," she laughed. "Anything
is better than being alone."
"I am a very peaceable person. I never quarrel with anybody. You
can try it. You will find it quite impossible."
"Will you let me try?" she asked, still smiling.
"By all means--especially if it is to be only a preliminary
canter," I answered, rashly.
"What do you mean?" she inquired, turning quickly upon me.
"Oh--nothing. You might try my paces with a view to quarreling in
the future. I cannot imagine how you are going to do it. You will
have to resort to immediate and direct abuse."
"No. I will only say that if you do not like your life, it is your
own fault. How can a man of your age talk of being melancholy, or
of the hollowness of existence? Are you consumptive? Are you
subject to hereditary insanity? Are you deaf, like Aunt Bluebell?
Are you poor, like--lots of people? Have you been crossed in love?
Have you lost the world for a woman, or any particular woman for
the sake of the world? Are you feeble-minded, a cripple, an
outcast? Are you--repulsively ugly?" She laughed again.
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