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Tuesday, April 1, 2014


machinations, originally uploaded by osmrtnice_uskoplje.

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And may I ask, young woman, have you run away from your second husband? You say that marriage was a mistake too. Mrs. Tremaine. No; he is dead now. Miss Macfarlane. But you don't--(_Looks at her dress._) Mrs. Tremaine. No, I don't _afficher_ eternal bereavement. We were separated for two years. Mrs Denham. Poor Blanche! Then it was not a success? Mrs. Tremaine. No; it was not a success. Miss Macfarlane. Well, we mustn't ask why? Mrs. Tremaine. Oh, I'm in the humour for confession. I think you can understand. We got on well enough while I was--free. But he did the chivalrous thing--asked me to marry him; and I was glad enough to scramble back to the platform of respectability. Miss Macfarlane. Well, I understand that, anyhow. Mrs. Tremaine That seemed to kill the romance, such as it was. I need not go into the sordid details, but we quarrelled finally about money--my money. My husband took to gambling in stocks. But I have managed to keep my little pittance, fortunately. Well, that is enough of my affairs. Have you any children, Constance? Mrs. Denham. One little girl, just nine. Have you any? Mrs. Tremaine. No--none. Miss Macfarlane. A woman who has had such unpleasant experiences ought to hate and despise men. But of course _you_ don't? Mrs. Tremaine. (_laughing_) No--I don't think I hate men exactly. I despise some men heartily. Miss Macfarlane. They're gey ill to live wi', eh? Mrs. Tremaine. I don't think marriage suits me, somehow. I suppose it suits some people. But I think it often tends to reduce them to a dead level of commonplace. The artificial bond makes people too sure of each other. It does not do to take love too much for granted, I think. (_Re-enter Denham._) Mrs. Denham. Well, Arthur, have you got rid of Mr. Fitzgerald? Denham. Yes--I'm so glad to have made your acquaintance, Mrs. Tremaine. Mrs. Tremaine. Thanks. It is so pleasant meeting unconventional people. Miss Macfarlane. (_Rising_) Eh! we've all been getting solemn and lugubrious. I must be going, my dear. Won't you show me your drawing-room? (_Mrs. Denham rises._) You wanted my advice about curtains, didn't you? Mrs. Denham. Will you excuse me, Blanc

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