Capitolo 59
"And do you think?" The Mr. Clifford asked, while placing down his/her newspaper and
seeming very serious.
"I don't think. I know", his/her wife answered with hurry. "I was wrong
the other day and Elma in love with that young, careful Cyril Stando.
I know more than that, Reginald; I know that you can crush her/it; I know
You can kill her/it; but if you don't want to do what, I know her
it owes sposarsilo. If we wish us him, or if we don't do, there is
nothing other to be done. As standing things are now, it is inevitable,
inevitable. You won't be never happy with someone other--she has to have
Him--and me, for one I won't try to prevent her."
The Mr. Reginald Clifford, C.M.G., once or the other the administrator of the
island of St. Kitts, looked fixed to his/her wife in white amazement. You
clearly spoken; he had never felt her talk to such steadiness
in his/her life before. It fairly took away his/her breath. He looked fixed to
his/her wife in absent way as him repeated to him in very slow and solemn
tones, every word distinguished, "You, for one it won't try to prevent
his/her!"
"No, I don't want, her Mrs. Clifford ritorgè provocatively, sure in her
own mind that she was acting correct. "Elma really in love with him;
and I won't leave the life of Elma is destroyed--as some lives you/he/she has been
destroyed, and as some mothers they would ruin him/it."
The Mr. Clifford tilted again him on his/her chair, a mass of the amazement,
and he/she left the Japanese carpet-knife that he was containing in his/her correct hand
it drips that clatters from his/her fingers. "If I had not felt Him say him/it
You, Louisa" he responded, with a gasp, "I could never have,
believes him/it. I was able--never--has--he/she believed him/it. I don't believe
it even now. It is impossible, unbelievable."
"But it is true", her Mrs. Clifford repeated. "Elma has to marry himself/herself/themselves the man
she is in love with."
Poor Elma placed above alone in the meantime in his/her bedroom, that terrible
sense of remorse and the shame that he/she anchors make its cheeks it swarms with