Clarissa Harlowe by Samuel Richardson (e reader manga .txt) 📕

if she gives me but one kind look.

All this time I was adjusting the horseman’s coat, and Will was putting in the ties of my wig,197 and buttoning the cape over my chin.

I asked the gentlewoman for a little powder. She brought me a powder-box, and I slightly shook the puff over my hat, and flapt one side of it, though the lace looked a little too gay for my covering; and, slouching it over my eyes, Shall I be known, think you, Madam?

Your Honour is so expert, Sir!⁠—I wish, if I may be so bold, your lady has not some cause to be jealous. But it will be impossible, if you keep your laced clothes covered, that anybody should know you in that dress to be the same gentleman⁠—except they find you out by your clocked stockings.

Well observed⁠—Can’t you, Landlord, lend or sell me a pair of stockings, that will draw over these? I can cut off the feet, if they won’t go into my shoes.

He could let me have a pair of coarse, but clean, stirrup stockings, if I pleased.

The best in the world for the purpose.

He fetch’d them. Will drew them on; and my legs then made a good gouty appearance.

The good woman smiling, wished me success; and so did the landlord. And as thou knowest that I am not a bad mimic, I took a cane, which I borrowed of the landlord, and stooped in the shoulders to a quarter of a foot less height, and stumped away cross to the bowling-green, to practise a little the hobbling gait of a gouty man.⁠—The landlady whispered her husband, as Will tells me, He’s a good one, I warrant him⁠—I dare say the fault lies not at all of one side. While mine host replied, That I was so lively and so good-natured a gentleman, that he did not know who could be angry with me, do what I would. A sensible fellow!⁠—I wish my charmer were of the same opinion.

And now I am going to try if I can’t agree with goody Moore for lodgings and other conveniencies for my sick wife.

“Wife, Lovelace?” methinks thou interrogatest.

Yes, wife, for who knows what cautions the dear fugitive may have given in apprehension of me?

“But has goody Moore any other lodgings to let?”

Yes, yes; I have taken care of that; and find that she has just such conveniencies as I want. And I know that my wife will like them. For, although married, I can do everything I please; and that’s a bold word, you know. But had she only a garret to let, I would have liked it; and been a poor author afraid of arrests, and made that my place of refuge; yet would have made shift to pay beforehand for what I had. I can suit myself to any condition, that’s my comfort.

The widow Moore returned! say you?⁠—Down, down, flutterer!⁠—This impertinent heart is more troublesome to me than my conscience, I think.⁠—I shall be obliged to hoarsen my voice, and roughen my character, to keep up with its puppily dancings.

But let me see, shall I be angry or pleased when I am admitted to my beloved’s presence?

Angry to be sure.⁠—Has she not broken her word with me?⁠—At a time too when I was meditating to do her grateful justice?⁠—And is not breach of word a dreadful crime in good folks?⁠—I have ever been for forming my judgment of the nature of things and actions, not so much from what they are in themselves, as from the character of the actors. Thus it would be as odd a thing in such as we to keep our words with a woman, as it would be wicked in her to break hers to us.

Seest thou not that this unseasonable gravity is admitted to quell the palpitations of this unmanageable heart? But still it will go on with its boundings. I’ll try as I ride in my chariot to tranquilize.

“Ride, Bob! so little a way?”

Yes, ride, Jack; for am I not lame? And will it not look well to have a lodger who keeps his chariot? What widow, what servant, asks questions of a man with an equipage?

My coachman, as well as my other servant, is under Will’s tuition.

Never was there such a hideous rascal as he has made himself. The devil only and his other master can know him. They both have set their marks upon him. As to my honour’s mark, it will never be out of his dam’d wide mothe, as he calls it. For the dog will be hanged before he can lose the rest of his teeth by age.

I am gone.

Letter 233 Mr. Lovelace, to John Belford, Esq.

Hampstead, Friday Night, June 9

Now, Belford, for the narrative of narratives. I will continue it as I have opportunity; and that so dexterously, that, if I break off twenty times, thou shalt not discern where I piece my thread.

Although grievously afflicted with the gout, I alighted out of my chariot (leaning very hard on my cane with one hand, and on my new servant’s shoulder with the other) the same instant almost that he had knocked at the door, that I might be sure of admission into the house.

I took care to button my great coat about me, and to cover with it even the pummel of my sword, it being a little too gay for my years. I knew not what occasion I might have for my sword. I stooped forward; blinked with my eyes to conceal their lustre (no vanity in saying that, Jack); my chin wrapt up for the toothache; my slouched, laced hat, and so much of my wig as was visible, giving me, all together, the appearance of an antiquated beau.

My wife, I resolved beforehand, should have a complication of disorders.

The maid came to the door. I asked for her mistress. She showed me into one of the parlours; and I sat down with