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Howells, William Dean, 1837-1920

"The Rise of Silas Lapham"

Pen has finished it."
"What does she think of it?"
"Oh, I think she likes it very well. I haven't heard
her talk about it much. Do you like it?"
"Yes; I liked it immensely. But it's several years
since I read it."
"I didn't know it was so old. It's just got into
the Seaside Library," she urged, with a little sense
of injury in her tone.
"Oh, it hasn't been out such a very great while,"
said Corey politely. "It came a little before DANIEL DERONDA."
The girl was again silent. She followed the curl
of a shaving on the floor with the point of her parasol.
"Do you like that Rosamond Vincy?" she asked, without looking up.
Corey smiled in his kind way.
"I didn't suppose she was expected to have any friends.
I can't say I liked her. But I don't think I disliked
her so much as the author does. She's pretty hard on her
good-looking"--he was going to say girls, but as if that
might have been rather personal, he said--"people."
"Yes, that's what Pen says. She says she doesn't give
her any chance to be good. She says she should have been
just as bad as Rosamond if she had been in her place."
The young man laughed. "Your sister is very satirical,
isn't she?"
"I don't know," said Irene, still intent upon the
convolutions of the shaving. "She keeps us laughing.
Papa thinks there's nobody that can talk like her.


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