Kit and Kitty: A Story of West MiddlesexBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
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Kit and Kitty: A Story of West Middlesex
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Middlesex (England) -- Fiction
However, I have no desire to complain, and perhaps it is better thus;
for if we knew all of their affairs, we might think less about them.
And I was in a very deep condition of interest and wonder, not only
from the hints I had received, but also from the manifold additions of
my fancy. In fact, it was far more than I could do, to confine my heart
to its proper work when I saw those two ladies come to do a little
shopping.
At that time, there were only about a dozen of the houses, in the
narrow street that runs along the river, which allowed the importance
of selling to compete with the necessity of dwelling. And the few, that
did appear inclined to do a little trade, if coaxed into it, were half
ashamed of their late concession to the spirit of the age. No man had
yet appeared who shatters the ancestral sense of congruity, who routs
up the natives, as a terrier bullies mastiffs, and scarcely even leaves
them their own bones. And it may be maintained, that people got things
better, and found them last longer than they ever do now. And this was
only natural, because it always took a much longer time to buy them.
This enabled me to take my time about my own business, without any risk
of being left behind by the lady housekeeper and her fair companion.
From time to time I assured myself by a glance between flower-pots,
or among drapery, that my quest was not gone astray, that as yet I
had not lost all that I cared to see, and that I could keep in my own
background, while thinking of things far beyond me.
It never had been my manner yet to be much afraid of anything; not
that I stood at all upon my valour, but simply because, to the best of
my knowledge, I had no enemy anywhere. Yet now, very much to my own
surprise, instead of proper courage, I was full of little doubts, and
more misgivings than I can at all describe, and even a tendency to run
away, and try to forget the very thing I was longing for. And I knew
for a certainty that if the matter came to the very best opportunity, I
was quite sure to do my very worst, and cut a despicable figure, to my
own undoing.
I tried to recover myself, by doing a few strokes of business on my
own account, going into the butcher’s, and complaining sadly that he
now weighed the foot in with the leg of mutton—a privilege only to
be claimed by lamb—but he said that it now was ordained by nature,
and asked how I expected a poor sheep to walk. I knew that his logic
would not go upon all-fours, but my wits were so loose that I let it
pass; and at that very moment I discovered, betwixt the hearts of two
bullocks, something very near my own. Miss Kitty Fairthorn had been set
free by Mrs. Jenny Marker, while the housekeeper was driving a bargain
in soft goods, unfit for young comprehension. After that, she was to go
on for a talk with Widow Cutthumb, and meanwhile the young lady might
look at the river, which was now rolling grandly in turbulent flood.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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