edwindvinas/testdataset · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 72
once finding a lost ring in a turkey’s crop. Uncle Benjamin told _his_
favourite prosy tale of how he had once chased and punished a now
famous man for stealing apples. Second Cousin Jane described all her
sufferings with an ulcerating tooth. Aunt Wellington admired the
pattern of Aunt Alberta’s silver teaspoons and lamented the fact that
one of her own had been lost.

“It spoiled the set. I could never get it matched. And it was my
wedding-present from dear old Aunt Matilda.”

Aunt Isabel thought the seasons were changing and couldn’t imagine what
had become of our good, old-fashioned springs. Cousin Georgiana, as
usual, discussed the last funeral and wondered, audibly, “which of us
will be the next to pass away.” Cousin Georgiana could never say
anything as blunt as “die.” Valancy thought she could tell her, but
didn’t. Cousin Gladys, likewise as usual, had a grievance. Her visiting
nephews had nipped all the buds off her house-plants and chivied her
brood of fancy chickens—“squeezed some of them actually to death, my
dear.”

“Boys will be boys,” reminded Uncle Herbert tolerantly.

“But they needn’t be ramping, rampageous animals,” retorted Cousin
Gladys, looking round the table for appreciation of her wit. Everybody
smiled except Valancy. Cousin Gladys remembered that. A few minutes
later, when Ellen Hamilton was being discussed, Cousin Gladys spoke of
her as “one of those shy, plain girls who can’t get husbands,” and
glanced significantly at Valancy.

Uncle James thought the conversation was sagging to a rather low plane
of personal gossip. He tried to elevate it by starting an abstract
discussion on “the greatest happiness.” Everybody was asked to state
his or her idea of “the greatest happiness.”

Aunt Mildred thought the greatest happiness—for a woman—was to be “a
loving and beloved wife and mother.” Aunt Wellington thought it would
be to travel in Europe. Olive thought it would be to be a great singer
like Tetrazzini. Cousin Gladys remarked mournfully that _her_ greatest
happiness would be to be free—absolutely free—from neuritis. Cousin
Georgiana’s greatest happiness would be “to have her dear, dead brother
Richard back.” Aunt Alberta remarked vaguely that the greatest
happiness was to be found in “the poetry of life” and hastily gave some
directions to her maid to prevent any one asking her what she meant.
Mrs. Frederick said the greatest happiness was to spend your life in
loving service for others, and Cousin Stickles and Aunt Isabel agreed
with her—Aunt Isabel with a resentful air, as if she thought Mrs.
Frederick had taken the wind out of her sails by saying it first. “We
are all too prone,” continued Mrs. Frederick, determined not to lose so
good an opportunity, “to live in selfishness, worldliness and sin.” The
other women all felt rebuked for their low ideals, and Uncle James had
a conviction that the conversation had been uplifted with a vengeance.

“The greatest happiness,” said Valancy suddenly and distinctly, “is to
sneeze when you want to.”

Everybody stared. Nobody felt it safe to say anything. Was Valancy
trying to be funny? It was incredible. Mrs. Frederick, who had been
breathing easier since the dinner had progressed so far without any
outbreak on the part of Valancy, began to tremble again. But she deemed
it the part of prudence to say nothing. Uncle Benjamin was not so
prudent. He rashly rushed in where Mrs. Frederick feared to tread.

“Doss,” he chuckled, “what is the difference between a young girl and
an old maid?”

“One is happy and careless and the other is cappy and hairless,” said
Valancy. “You have asked that riddle at least fifty times in my
recollection, Uncle Ben. Why don’t you hunt up some new riddles if
riddle you _must_? It is such a fatal mistake to try to be funny if you
don’t succeed.”

Uncle Benjamin stared foolishly. Never in his life had he, Benjamin
Stirling, of Stirling and Frost, been spoken to so. And by Valancy of
all people! He looked feebly around the table to see what the others
thought of it. Everybody was looking rather blank. Poor Mrs. Frederick
had shut her eyes. And her lips moved tremblingly—as if she were
praying. Perhaps she was. The situation was so unprecedented that
nobody knew how to meet it. Valancy went on calmly eating her salad as
if nothing out of the usual had occurred.

Aunt Alberta, to save her dinner, plunged into an account of how a dog
had bitten her recently. Uncle James, to back her up, asked where the
dog had bitten her.

“Just a little below the Catholic church,” said Aunt Alberta.

At that point Valancy laughed. Nobody else laughed. What was there to
laugh at?

“Is that a vital part?” asked Valancy.

“What do you mean?” said bewildered Aunt Alberta, and Mrs. Frederick
was almost driven to believe that she had served God all her years for
naught.

Aunt Isabel concluded that it was up to her to suppress Valancy.

“Doss, you are horribly thin,” she said. “You are _all_ corners. Do you
_ever_ try to fatten up a little?”

once finding a lost ring in a turkey’s crop. Uncle Benjamin told _his_

favourite prosy tale of how he had once chased and punished a now

famous man for stealing apples. Second Cousin Jane described all her

sufferings with an ulcerating tooth. Aunt Wellington admired the

pattern of Aunt Alberta’s silver teaspoons and lamented the fact that

one of her own had been lost.

“It spoiled the set. I could never get it matched. And it was my

wedding-present from dear old Aunt Matilda.”

Aunt Isabel thought the seasons were changing and couldn’t imagine what

had become of our good, old-fashioned springs. Cousin Georgiana, as

usual, discussed the last funeral and wondered, audibly, “which of us

will be the next to pass away.” Cousin Georgiana could never say

anything as blunt as “die.” Valancy thought she could tell her, but

didn’t. Cousin Gladys, likewise as usual, had a grievance. Her visiting

nephews had nipped all the buds off her house-plants and chivied her

brood of fancy chickens—“squeezed some of them actually to death, my

dear.”

“Boys will be boys,” reminded Uncle Herbert tolerantly.

“But they needn’t be ramping, rampageous animals,” retorted Cousin

Gladys, looking round the table for appreciation of her wit. Everybody

smiled except Valancy. Cousin Gladys remembered that. A few minutes

later, when Ellen Hamilton was being discussed, Cousin Gladys spoke of

her as “one of those shy, plain girls who can’t get husbands,” and

glanced significantly at Valancy.

Uncle James thought the conversation was sagging to a rather low plane

of personal gossip. He tried to elevate it by starting an abstract

discussion on “the greatest happiness.” Everybody was asked to state

his or her idea of “the greatest happiness.”

Aunt Mildred thought the greatest happiness—for a woman—was to be “a

loving and beloved wife and mother.” Aunt Wellington thought it would

be to travel in Europe. Olive thought it would be to be a great singer

like Tetrazzini. Cousin Gladys remarked mournfully that _her_ greatest

happiness would be to be free—absolutely free—from neuritis. Cousin

Georgiana’s greatest happiness would be “to have her dear, dead brother

Richard back.” Aunt Alberta remarked vaguely that the greatest

happiness was to be found in “the poetry of life” and hastily gave some

directions to her maid to prevent any one asking her what she meant.

Mrs. Frederick said the greatest happiness was to spend your life in

loving service for others, and Cousin Stickles and Aunt Isabel agreed

with her—Aunt Isabel with a resentful air, as if she thought Mrs.

Frederick had taken the wind out of her sails by saying it first. “We

are all too prone,” continued Mrs. Frederick, determined not to lose so

good an opportunity, “to live in selfishness, worldliness and sin.” The

other women all felt rebuked for their low ideals, and Uncle James had

a conviction that the conversation had been uplifted with a vengeance.

“The greatest happiness,” said Valancy suddenly and distinctly, “is to

sneeze when you want to.”

Everybody stared. Nobody felt it safe to say anything. Was Valancy

trying to be funny? It was incredible. Mrs. Frederick, who had been

breathing easier since the dinner had progressed so far without any

outbreak on the part of Valancy, began to tremble again. But she deemed

it the part of prudence to say nothing. Uncle Benjamin was not so

prudent. He rashly rushed in where Mrs. Frederick feared to tread.

“Doss,” he chuckled, “what is the difference between a young girl and

an old maid?”

“One is happy and careless and the other is cappy and hairless,” said

Valancy. “You have asked that riddle at least fifty times in my

recollection, Uncle Ben. Why don’t you hunt up some new riddles if

riddle you _must_? It is such a fatal mistake to try to be funny if you

don’t succeed.”

Uncle Benjamin stared foolishly. Never in his life had he, Benjamin

Stirling, of Stirling and Frost, been spoken to so. And by Valancy of

all people! He looked feebly around the table to see what the others

thought of it. Everybody was looking rather blank. Poor Mrs. Frederick

had shut her eyes. And her lips moved tremblingly—as if she were

praying. Perhaps she was. The situation was so unprecedented that

nobody knew how to meet it. Valancy went on calmly eating her salad as

if nothing out of the usual had occurred.

Aunt Alberta, to save her dinner, plunged into an account of how a dog

had bitten her recently. Uncle James, to back her up, asked where the

dog had bitten her.

“Just a little below the Catholic church,” said Aunt Alberta.

At that point Valancy laughed. Nobody else laughed. What was there to

laugh at?

“Is that a vital part?” asked Valancy.

“What do you mean?” said bewildered Aunt Alberta, and Mrs. Frederick

was almost driven to believe that she had served God all her years for

naught.

Aunt Isabel concluded that it was up to her to suppress Valancy.

“Doss, you are horribly thin,” she said. “You are _all_ corners. Do you

_ever_ try to fatten up a little?”