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Hardy, Thomas, 1840-1928

"Tess of the d'Urbervilles"


"I am so sorry you should have heard this sad story about the girls,"
he said. "Still, don't let it depress you. Retty was naturally
morbid, you know."
"Without the least cause," said Tess. "While they who have cause to
be, hide it, and pretend they are not."
This incident had turned the scale for her. They were simple and
innocent girls on whom the unhappiness of unrequited love had fallen;
they had deserved better at the hands of Fate. She had deserved
worse--yet she was the chosen one. It was wicked of her to take all
without paying. She would pay to the uttermost farthing; she would
tell, there and then. This final determination she came to when she
looked into the fire, he holding her hand.
A steady glare from the now flameless embers painted the sides
and back of the fireplace with its colour, and the well-polished
andirons, and the old brass tongs that would not meet. The underside
of the mantel-shelf was flushed with the high-coloured light, and
the legs of the table nearest the fire. Tess's face and neck
reflected the same warmth, which each gem turned into an Aldebaran
or a Sirius--a constellation of white, red, and green flashes, that
interchanged their hues with her every pulsation.


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