[Mr. Sponge’s Sporting Tour by R. S. Surtees]@TWC D-Link bookMr. Sponge’s Sporting Tour CHAPTER XV 7/10
Still, the mere questions, put in a playful, womanly way, helped the time on, and prevented things coming to that frightful deadlock of silence, that causes an involuntary inward exclamation of 'How _am I_ to get through the time with this man ?' There are people who seem to think that sitting and looking at each other constitutes society.
Women have a great advantage over men in the talking way; they have always something to say.
Let a lot of women be huddled together throughout the whole of a livelong day, and they will yet have such a balance of conversation at night, as to render it necessary to convert a bedroom into a clearing-house, to get rid of it.
Men, however, soon get high and dry, especially before dinner; and a host ought to be at liberty to read the Riot Act, and disperse them to their bedrooms, till such times as they wanted to eat and drink. A most scientifically sounded gong, beginning low, like distant thunder, and gradually increasing its murmur till it filled the whole mansion with its roar, at length relieved all parties from the labour of further efforts; and, looking at his watch, Jawleyford asked Mrs.Jawleyford, in an innocent, indifferent sort of way, which was Mr.Sponge's room; though he had been fussing about it not long before, and dusting the portrait of himself in his green-and-gold yeomanry uniform, with an old pocket-handkerchief. 'The crimson room, my dear,' replied the well-drilled Mrs.Jawleyford; and Spigot coming with candles, Jawleyford preceded 'Mr.Sponge' up a splendid richly carved oak staircase, of such gradual and easy rise that an invalid might almost have been drawn up it in a garden-chair. Passing a short distance along a spacious corridor, Mr.Jawleyford presently opened a door to the right, and led the way into a large gloomy room, with a little newly lighted wood fire crackling in an enormous grate, making darkness visible, and drawing the cold out of the walls.
We need scarcely say it was that terrible room--the best; with three creaking, ill-fitting windows, and heavy crimson satin-damask furniture, so old as scarcely to be able to sustain its own weight.
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