Lawrence Seldon: House of Mirth, 2016, Oil on Canvas, 36 x 48
He had seated himself on an arm of the chair near which she was standing, and she continued to question him…
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‘Don’t you ever mind,’ she asked suddenly, ‘not being rich enough to buy all the books you want?’
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He followed her glance about the room, with its worn furniture and shabby walls.
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‘Don’t I just? Do you take me for a saint on a pillar?’
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‘And having to work—do you mind that?’
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‘Oh, the work itself is not so bad—I’m rather fond of the law.’
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‘No; but the being tied down: the routine—don’t you ever want to get away, to see new places and people?’
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‘Horribly—especially when I see all my friends rushing to the steamer.’
She drew a sympathetic breath. ‘But do you mind enough—to marry to get out of it?’
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Selden broke into a laugh. ‘God forbid!’ he declared.
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-Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth