“It was Sunday, and the whole time between morning and afternoon service was required by the general in exercise abroad or eating cold meat at home. During her many glimpses of him, Catherine made it a point each time to observe very closely for any sign of his own angel—and now she was certain, indeed, unless his angel stayed hidden in a pocket, he had none. As for the forbidden apartments, despite her great curiosity, her courage was not equal to exploring them after dinner—either by the fadin...g light of the sky, or by the stronger illumination of a treacherous lamp. The day was unmarked therefore by anything to interest her imagination beyond the sight of a very elegant monument to the memory of Mrs. Tilney, which immediately fronted the family pew. By that her eye was instantly caught and long retained. And the perusal of the highly strained epitaph—in which every virtue was ascribed to her by the inconsolable husband (who must have been her destroyer!)—affected her even to tears.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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