Middlemarch - 6

by George Eliot in English Fiction Stories

CHAPTER VI. My lady’s tongue is like the meadow blades,That cut you stroking them with idle hand.Nice cutting is her function: she dividesWith spiritual edge the millet-seed,And makes intangible savings. As Mr. Casaubon’s carriage was passing out of the ...Read Moreit arrested the entrance of a pony phaeton driven by a lady with a servant seated behind. It was doubtful whether the recognition had been mutual, for Mr. Casaubon was looking absently before him; but the lady was quick-eyed, and threw a nod and a “How do you do?” in the nick of time. In spite of her shabby bonnet Read Less