“But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world,” replied Darcy.
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“Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?” said Miss Bingley: “will she be as tall as I am?”
Thus toil’d the chiefs, in different parts engaged. In every quarter fierce Tydides raged; Amid the Greek, amid the Trojan train, Rapt through the ranks he thunders o’er the plain; Now here, now there, he darts from place to place, Pours on the rear, or lightens in their face. Thus from high hills the torrents swift and strong Deluge whole fields, and sweep the trees along, Through ruin’d moles the rushing wave resounds, O’erwhelm’s the bridge, and bursts the lofty bounds; The yellow harvests of the ripen’d year, And flatted vineyards, one sad waste appear![144] While Jove descends in sluicy sheets of rain, And all the labours of mankind are vain.
“Quite so,” answered the young lord. “It is the problem of slavery, and we try to solve it by amusing the slaves.”
“You don’t know his name, though,” said the lad harshly.
Lord Henry looked over at Mr. Erskine. “Humanity takes itself too seriously. It is the world’s original sin. If the caveman had known how to laugh, history would have been different.”
The Picture of Dorian Gray — Chapter 11: Chapter V (part 1/2)
“Do you feel, yet, that you belong to this terrestrial scheme again, Mr. Darnay?”
“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.
“You used us abominably ill,” answered Mrs. Hurst, “running away without telling us that you were coming out.”
“Did Charlotte dine with you?”
“But I thought you had promised Basil Hallward to go and see him,” answered Lord Henry.
The sire whose thunder shakes the cloudy skies, Sighs from his inmost soul, and thus replies: “Oh lasting rancour! oh insatiate hate To Phrygia’s monarch, and the Phrygian state! What high offence has fired the wife of Jove? Can wretched mortals harm the powers above, That Troy, and Troy’s whole race thou wouldst confound, And yon fair structures level with the ground! Haste, leave the skies, fulfil thy stern desire, Burst all her gates, and wrap her walls in fire! Let Priam bleed! if yet you thirst for more, Bleed all his sons, and Ilion float with gore: To boundless vengeance the wide realm be given, Till vast destruction glut the queen of heaven! So let it be, and Jove his peace enjoy,[126] When heaven no longer hears the name of Troy. But should this arm prepare to wreak our hate On thy loved realms, whose guilt demands their fate; Presume not thou the lifted bolt to stay, Remember Troy, and give the vengeance way. For know, of all the numerous towns that rise Beneath the rolling sun and starry skies, Which gods have raised, or earth-born men enjoy, None stands so dear to Jove as sacred Troy. No mortals merit more distinguish’d grace Than godlike Priam, or than Priam’s race. Still to our name their hecatombs expire, And altars blaze with unextinguish’d fire.”
“My style of writing is very different from yours.”
“Eliza Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, “is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I daresay, it succeeds; but, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.”
“You used us abominably ill,” answered Mrs. Hurst, “running away without telling us that you were coming out.”
“I see your design, Bingley,” said his friend. “You dislike an argument, and want to silence this.”
“Oh, I am not at all afraid of her dying. People do not die of little trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have the carriage.”
“Thank you--but I always mend my own.”
“Lizzy,” cried her mother, “remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.”