Caution -- Spoilers:
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. . . an awful heaviness settled in his throat and lungs, while his shoulder ached as he laboured to hold both the lantern and ragged straps so unluckily cut earlier.I did worry this would happen and now that it has, I hope he'll get well soon. Yet, the way you describe it, I fear he may have a rough go of it for some time. Sigh.
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"I think we had better head for Northanger, as we can find the river easy enough, and thence get to higher ground on the other side. Any other way is likely to prove as perilous as this one, and besides there is a doctor near the abbey."Do I feel some Gothic vibes coming on? I do hope so.
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"I am well!" he called in answer to his wife's cry, putting as much cheer into his voice as possible, and absently speculating whether a thing could be made so if said often enough.What you wrote here, capturing this particular aspect of the era, had me recall some research I did years ago for my own writing about Captain De Lancey and his wife at Waterloo. You might be familiar with their story, but I remember their marked, impeccable manners that they imparted to one another while he lay dying in a country cottage while in terrible pain, being nursed by his young wife for a week’s duration before passing from his injuries. They both spoke so gently and lovingly, ever concerned for one another’s welfare. I can see Catherine and Henry being very much the same. You describe them so nobly--so beautifully.
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As they waited, Henry attempted to shield her even as she raised the umbrella higher for him. "My dearest Catherine, I am so sorry," he began, but found he could not articulate all he was sorry for. It was too immense, and his brain too fogged to detail it.His raw regret tugs at my heartstrings. But he did what he was impelled to do and would do so again if necessary.
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It was as if the drive would never end, and he like Orpheus doomed to continually wander through a frigid misty underworld, his wife behind him, doubting whether they would reach safety or no.Perfect imagery and representation to illustrate the intensity of Henry’s own hellish plight.
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"My deepest thanks, Will, for your valuable service tonight."I quite agree! Even in his infirmity, he offers gratitude. Very noble.
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"Have the coach made ready with the surest team. Mrs. Tilney will travel back to Woodston tonight."Oh no! No Henry! Don’t make her go back. She’ll become despondent in being separated from you. Then I'll become despondent!
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"You know better than to get dirt all over the furniture, or at least you did. No telling what your habits are like now."GRrrrrrrr! Yes, that is coming from me and Brutus would willingly join me, I imagine.
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The barely veiled comment against his marriage caused Henry to stand ramrod straight,Love it and his response also!
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"Why is she here?" was the next inquiry. "Get to the point: I have no patience for that insipid tongue of your's tonight."What a horrid man!
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"No sir." So Henry launched into an abbreviated version of events to date. He was forced to omit much of Frederick's disreputable conduct out of sheer expediency, not wanting to get tangled in the minutia of the tale before reaching the heart of the matter.He's too generous in regards to his dasterdly brother.
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"You shall both stay here. No need to add to the day's folly: I will not risk/Okay, at this point I felt finally, he’s coming to his senses until this:
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… any more horseflesh."Are you kidding me!?!!!
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He rang and gave instructions for his son and daughter to be settled "out of the way."I’m speechless.
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Catherine looked near to tears at the suggestion. "Henry, no, I could not leave you!I knew it! I just knew this was going to happen. Oh!
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But Catherine broke into true sobs at this proposed schedule, begging him to let her stay, pleading not to be sent off, and beseeching they remain together. It was more than he could stand after everything else.I can’t blame her one bit and feel her anguish. She’s been through so much already and is exhausted. I’d want to stay by my dear husband’s side too.
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Morpheus did not take him so soon, and he tossed and turned fitfully, dull aches threading through every fibre of his being. Worse, his chills were eventually replaced with a burning sensation, such that he could not bear the heat of the room. Stumbling about, he managed to coax the window open, desperate to quench the fire coursing through him. Coughs kept him half awake, even as exhaustion claimed him, and he only sank into oblivion when the rain stopped past one.Oh, my word! This paragraph doesn’t bode well—he’s truly ill. My anxiety hasn’t lessened but grows still, and to new heights! I hope the doctor is close at hand and can help. No leeches,
please!. (Oh this is so good!)