edwindvinas/testdataset · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 72
poor, pitiful little Cecily Gay’s false lover? For it _did_ seem
intolerable to her. She did not mind when they called him a thief and a
counterfeiter and jail-bird; but she could not endure to think that he
had loved and ruined Cecily Gay. She recalled his face on the two
occasions of their chance meetings—his twisted, enigmatic, engaging
smile, his twinkle, his thin, sensitive, almost ascetic lips, his
general air of frank daredeviltry. A man with such a smile and lips
might have murdered or stolen but he could not have betrayed. She
suddenly hated every one who said it or believed it of him.

“When _I_ was a young girl I never thought or spoke about such matters,
Doss,” said Aunt Wellington, crushingly.

“But I’m not a young girl,” retorted Valancy, uncrushed. “Aren’t you
always rubbing that into me? And you are all evil-minded, senseless
gossips. Can’t you leave poor Cissy Gay alone? She’s dying. Whatever
she did, God or the Devil has punished her enough for it. _You_ needn’t
take a hand, too. As for Barney Snaith, the only crime he has been
guilty of is living to himself and minding his own business. He can, it
seems, get along without you. Which _is_ an unpardonable sin, of
course, in your little snobocracy.” Valancy coined that concluding word
suddenly and felt that it was an inspiration. That was exactly what
they were and not one of them was fit to mend another.

“Valancy, your poor father would turn over in his grave if he could
hear you,” said Mrs. Frederick.

“I dare say he would like that for a change,” said Valancy brazenly.

“Doss,” said Uncle James heavily, “the Ten Commandments are fairly up
to date still—especially the fifth. Have you forgotten that?”

“No,” said Valancy, “but I thought _you_ had—especially the ninth. Have
you ever thought, Uncle James, how dull life would be without the Ten
Commandments? It is only when things are forbidden that they become
fascinating.”

But her excitement had been too much for her. She knew, by certain
unmistakable warnings, that one of her attacks of pain was coming on.
It must not find her there. She rose from her chair.

“I am going home now. I only came for the dinner. It was very good,
Aunt Alberta, although your salad-dressing is not salt enough and a
dash of cayenne would improve it.”

None of the flabbergasted silver wedding guests could think of anything
to say until the lawn gate clanged behind Valancy in the dusk. Then—

“She’s feverish—I’ve said right along she was feverish,” moaned Cousin
Stickles.

Uncle Benjamin punished his pudgy left hand fiercely with his pudgy
right.

“She’s dippy—I tell you she’s gone dippy,” he snorted angrily. “That’s
all there is about it. Clean dippy.”

“Oh, Benjamin,” said Cousin Georgiana soothingly, “don’t condemn her
too rashly. We _must_ remember what dear old Shakespeare says—that
charity thinketh no evil.”

“Charity! Poppy-cock!” snorted Uncle Benjamin. “I never heard a young
woman talk such stuff in my life as she just did. Talking about things
she ought to be ashamed to think of, much less mention. Blaspheming!
Insulting _us_! What she wants is a generous dose of spank-weed and I’d
like to be the one to administer it. H-uh-h-h-h!” Uncle Benjamin gulped
down the half of a scalding cup of coffee.

“Do you suppose that the mumps could work on a person that way?” wailed
Cousin Stickles.

“I opened an umbrella in the house yesterday,” sniffed Cousin
Georgiana. “I _knew_ it betokened some misfortune.”

“Have you tried to find out if she has a temperature?” asked Cousin
Mildred.

“She wouldn’t let Amelia put the thermometer under her tongue,”
whimpered Cousin Stickles.

Mrs. Frederick was openly in tears. All her defences were down.

“I must tell you,” she sobbed, “that Valancy has been acting very
strangely for over two weeks now. She hasn’t been a bit like
herself—Christine could tell you. I have hoped against hope that it was
only one of her colds coming on. But it is—it must be something worse.”

“This is bringing on my neuritis again,” said Cousin Gladys, putting
her hand to her head.

“Don’t cry, Amelia,” said Herbert kindly, pulling nervously at his
spiky grey hair. He hated “family ructions.” Very inconsiderate of Doss
to start one at _his_ silver wedding. Who could have supposed she had
it in her? “You’ll have to take her to a doctor. This may be only
a—er—a brainstorm. There are such things as brainstorms nowadays,
aren’t there?”

“I—I suggested consulting a doctor to her yesterday,” moaned Mrs.
Frederick. “And she said she wouldn’t go to a doctor—wouldn’t. Oh,
surely I have had trouble enough!”

poor, pitiful little Cecily Gay’s false lover? For it _did_ seem

intolerable to her. She did not mind when they called him a thief and a

counterfeiter and jail-bird; but she could not endure to think that he

had loved and ruined Cecily Gay. She recalled his face on the two

occasions of their chance meetings—his twisted, enigmatic, engaging

smile, his twinkle, his thin, sensitive, almost ascetic lips, his

general air of frank daredeviltry. A man with such a smile and lips

might have murdered or stolen but he could not have betrayed. She

suddenly hated every one who said it or believed it of him.

“When _I_ was a young girl I never thought or spoke about such matters,

Doss,” said Aunt Wellington, crushingly.

“But I’m not a young girl,” retorted Valancy, uncrushed. “Aren’t you

always rubbing that into me? And you are all evil-minded, senseless

gossips. Can’t you leave poor Cissy Gay alone? She’s dying. Whatever

she did, God or the Devil has punished her enough for it. _You_ needn’t

take a hand, too. As for Barney Snaith, the only crime he has been

guilty of is living to himself and minding his own business. He can, it

seems, get along without you. Which _is_ an unpardonable sin, of

course, in your little snobocracy.” Valancy coined that concluding word

suddenly and felt that it was an inspiration. That was exactly what

they were and not one of them was fit to mend another.

“Valancy, your poor father would turn over in his grave if he could

hear you,” said Mrs. Frederick.

“I dare say he would like that for a change,” said Valancy brazenly.

“Doss,” said Uncle James heavily, “the Ten Commandments are fairly up

to date still—especially the fifth. Have you forgotten that?”

“No,” said Valancy, “but I thought _you_ had—especially the ninth. Have

you ever thought, Uncle James, how dull life would be without the Ten

Commandments? It is only when things are forbidden that they become

fascinating.”

But her excitement had been too much for her. She knew, by certain

unmistakable warnings, that one of her attacks of pain was coming on.

It must not find her there. She rose from her chair.

“I am going home now. I only came for the dinner. It was very good,

Aunt Alberta, although your salad-dressing is not salt enough and a

dash of cayenne would improve it.”

None of the flabbergasted silver wedding guests could think of anything

to say until the lawn gate clanged behind Valancy in the dusk. Then—

“She’s feverish—I’ve said right along she was feverish,” moaned Cousin

Stickles.

Uncle Benjamin punished his pudgy left hand fiercely with his pudgy

right.

“She’s dippy—I tell you she’s gone dippy,” he snorted angrily. “That’s

all there is about it. Clean dippy.”

“Oh, Benjamin,” said Cousin Georgiana soothingly, “don’t condemn her

too rashly. We _must_ remember what dear old Shakespeare says—that

charity thinketh no evil.”

“Charity! Poppy-cock!” snorted Uncle Benjamin. “I never heard a young

woman talk such stuff in my life as she just did. Talking about things

she ought to be ashamed to think of, much less mention. Blaspheming!

Insulting _us_! What she wants is a generous dose of spank-weed and I’d

like to be the one to administer it. H-uh-h-h-h!” Uncle Benjamin gulped

down the half of a scalding cup of coffee.

“Do you suppose that the mumps could work on a person that way?” wailed

Cousin Stickles.

“I opened an umbrella in the house yesterday,” sniffed Cousin

Georgiana. “I _knew_ it betokened some misfortune.”

“Have you tried to find out if she has a temperature?” asked Cousin

Mildred.

“She wouldn’t let Amelia put the thermometer under her tongue,”

whimpered Cousin Stickles.

Mrs. Frederick was openly in tears. All her defences were down.

“I must tell you,” she sobbed, “that Valancy has been acting very

strangely for over two weeks now. She hasn’t been a bit like

herself—Christine could tell you. I have hoped against hope that it was

only one of her colds coming on. But it is—it must be something worse.”

“This is bringing on my neuritis again,” said Cousin Gladys, putting

her hand to her head.

“Don’t cry, Amelia,” said Herbert kindly, pulling nervously at his

spiky grey hair. He hated “family ructions.” Very inconsiderate of Doss

to start one at _his_ silver wedding. Who could have supposed she had

it in her? “You’ll have to take her to a doctor. This may be only

a—er—a brainstorm. There are such things as brainstorms nowadays,

aren’t there?”

“I—I suggested consulting a doctor to her yesterday,” moaned Mrs.

Frederick. “And she said she wouldn’t go to a doctor—wouldn’t. Oh,

surely I have had trouble enough!”