Elizabeth Gaskell

Elizabeth Gaskell

Summary

Portrait of Elizabeth Gaskell Elizabeth Gaskell Mary Barton — Chapter XXXI (1848)

The boatman took it very quietly, never deigning to give any explanation, but sitting down in his own particular chair, and chewing tobacco, while he looked at Mary with the most satisfied air imaginable, half triumphantly, as if she were the captive of his bow and spear, and half defying, as if daring her to escape.
The old woman, his wife, stood still, poker in hand, waiting to be told who it was that her husband had brought home so unceremoniously; but, as she looked in amazement, the girl's cheek flushed, and then blanched to a dead whiteness
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Elizabeth Gaskell Elizabeth Gaskell Mary Barton — Chapter XXXI (1848)

She did not pass that night in bed any more than Job; but she was under a respectable roof, and among kind, though rough people.
She had offered no resistance to the old boatman, when he had clutched her arm, in order to insure her following him, as he threaded the crowded dock-ways, and dived up strange by-streets. She came on meekly after him, scarcely thinking in her stupor where she was going, and glad (in a dead, heavy way) that some one was deciding things for her.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Elizabeth Gaskell Elizabeth Gaskell Mary Barton — Chapter XXXI (1848)

Well-a-well! it's the bad ones as have the broken hearts, sure enough; good folk never get utterly cast down, they've always getten hope in the Lord; it's the sinful as bear the bitter, bitter grief in their crushed hearts, poor souls; it's them we ought, most of all, to pity and help. She shanna leave the house to-night, choose who she is--worst woman in Liverpool, she shanna. I wished I knew where th' old man picked her up, that I do."
Mary had listened feebly to this soliloquy, and now tried to satisfy her hostess in weak, broken sentences.
Source: Wikisource

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