I want you to be my wife. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. Lord, I am sixty. He was staring at her, openly gaping. \"Do not tell me that you have not asked her yet, fool, or I will be forced to dump the rest of that soda over your head. Her faculties seemed for a moment numbed. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. But, it can't be helped.
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