..not till
the very end, actually. Here you are finally polished off:
'"But to return to the little work we have used as the text of
this article. We are far from altogether disparaging the author's
powers. She has a certain versatility that enables her to use
with effect a style of narration peculiar to herself, which may be
called a murmuring of delicate emotional trifles, the particular
gift of those to whom the social sympathies of a peaceful time are
as daily food. Hence, where matters of domestic experience, and
the natural touches which make people real, can be introduced
without anachronisms too striking, she is occasionally felicitous;
and upon the whole we feel justified in saying that the book will
bear looking into for the sake of those portions which have
nothing whatever to do with the story."
'Well, I suppose it is intended for satire; but don't think
anything more of it now, my dear. It is seven o'clock.' And Mrs.
Swancourt rang for her maid.
Attack is more piquant than concord. Stephen's letter was
concerning nothing but oneness with her: the review was the very
reverse. And a stranger with neither name nor shape, age nor
appearance, but a mighty voice, is naturally rather an interesting
novelty to a lady he chooses to address. When Elfride fell asleep
that night she was loving the writer of the letter, but thinking
of the writer of that article.
Chapter XVI
'Then fancy shapes--as fancy can.
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