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her to surmise her danger: the perceptions of Elinor were too quick to allow time for retraction or after precaution: the deepest damask flushed her pallid cheeks; her eyes became wildly dazzling, and she impetuously exclaimed, "The time, then, is come! The struggle is over!—and I shall quaff no more this 'nauseous draught of life[1]?'"
She clasped her hands in an extacy, and vehemently added, "When—when—tell me if possible, to a moment! when eternal stillness may quiet this throbbing breast?—when I may bid a final, glad adieu to this detestable world, to all its servile customs, and all its despicable inhabitants?—Why do you not speak?—Be brief, be brief!"
Mr. Naird, slowly approaching her, silently felt her pulse.
"Away with this burlesque dumb shew!" cried she, indignantly. "No more of these farcical forms! Speak!
- ↑ Dryden.
