Victorian Short Stories: Stories of Courtship by Unknown
page 50 of 134 (37%)
page 50 of 134 (37%)
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woman, upright, stalwart almost, despite her years. Her face was gaunt
and sallow; deep wrinkles accentuated the hardness of her features. She wore a black widow's cap above her iron-grey hair, gold-rimmed spectacles, and a soiled, chequered apron. 'Ye're varra late, Tony,' she remarked querulously. He unloosened his woollen neckerchief, and when he had hung it methodically with his hat behind the door, answered: ''Twas terrible thick on t' fell-top, an' them two bitches be that senseless.' She caught his sleeve, and, through her spectacles, suspiciously scrutinized his face. 'Ye did na meet wi' Rosa Blencarn?' 'Nay, she was in church, hymn-playin', wi' Luke Stock hangin' roond door,' he retorted bitterly, rebuffing her with rough impatience. She moved away, nodding sententiously to herself. They began supper: neither spoke: Anthony sat slowly stirring his tea, and staring moodily into the flames: the bacon on his plate lay untouched. From time to time his mother, laying down her knife and fork, looked across at him in unconcealed asperity, pursing her wide, ungainly mouth. At last, abruptly setting down her cup, she broke out: 'I wonder ye hav'na mare pride, Tony. For hoo lang are ye goin' t' continue settin' mopin' and broodin' like a seck sheep? Ye'll jest mak |
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