DOI article:
Gissing, George: The foolish virgin
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27811#0038
34
The Foolish Virgin
" It's a family characteristic," interposed Rosamund with a dry
laugh.
That day she moved about with the gait and the eyes of a som-
nambulist. She broke a piece of crockery, and became hysterical
over it. Her afternoon leisure she spent in the bedroom, and at
night she professed a headache which obliged her to retire early.
A passion of wrath inflamed her ; as vehement—though so
utterly unreasonable—as in the moment when she learnt the
perfidy of Mr. Cheeseman. She raged at her folly in having
submitted to social degradation on the mere hint of a man
who uttered it in a spirit purely contemptuous. The whole
hateful world had conspired against her. She banned her kins-
folk and all her acquaintances, especially the Hunts ; she felt
bitter even against the Hallidays—unsympathetic, selfish people,
utterly indifferent to her private griefs, regarding her as a mere
domestic machine. She would write to Geoffrey Hunt, and let
him know very plainly what she thought of his behaviour in
Mrgz'Mg her to become a servant. Would such a thought have
ever occurred to a ^72^772^72 / And her poor life was wasted, oh!
oh ! She would soon be thirty—thirty ! The glass mocked her
with savage truth. And she had not even a decent dress to put
on. Self-neglect had made her appearance vulgar ; her manners,
her speech, doubtless, had lost their note of social superiority. Oh,
it was hard ! She wished for death, cried for divine justice in a
better world.
On the morning of release, she travelled to London Bridge,
ostensibly ^72 7*0222^ for the north. But, on alighting, she had her
luggage taken to the cloak-room, and herself went by omnibus to
the West-end. By noon she had engaged a lodging, one room in a
street where she had never yet lived. And hither before night
was transferred her property.
The
The Foolish Virgin
" It's a family characteristic," interposed Rosamund with a dry
laugh.
That day she moved about with the gait and the eyes of a som-
nambulist. She broke a piece of crockery, and became hysterical
over it. Her afternoon leisure she spent in the bedroom, and at
night she professed a headache which obliged her to retire early.
A passion of wrath inflamed her ; as vehement—though so
utterly unreasonable—as in the moment when she learnt the
perfidy of Mr. Cheeseman. She raged at her folly in having
submitted to social degradation on the mere hint of a man
who uttered it in a spirit purely contemptuous. The whole
hateful world had conspired against her. She banned her kins-
folk and all her acquaintances, especially the Hunts ; she felt
bitter even against the Hallidays—unsympathetic, selfish people,
utterly indifferent to her private griefs, regarding her as a mere
domestic machine. She would write to Geoffrey Hunt, and let
him know very plainly what she thought of his behaviour in
Mrgz'Mg her to become a servant. Would such a thought have
ever occurred to a ^72^772^72 / And her poor life was wasted, oh!
oh ! She would soon be thirty—thirty ! The glass mocked her
with savage truth. And she had not even a decent dress to put
on. Self-neglect had made her appearance vulgar ; her manners,
her speech, doubtless, had lost their note of social superiority. Oh,
it was hard ! She wished for death, cried for divine justice in a
better world.
On the morning of release, she travelled to London Bridge,
ostensibly ^72 7*0222^ for the north. But, on alighting, she had her
luggage taken to the cloak-room, and herself went by omnibus to
the West-end. By noon she had engaged a lodging, one room in a
street where she had never yet lived. And hither before night
was transferred her property.
The