'Yes! poor Elizabeth!' sighed the General, in pity of the poor girl's
disappointment; 'poor Elizabeth! she little guesses what her father has
gone through. Poor child! I say, she hasn't an idea of my sufferings.'
General Ople delivered his card at Lady Camper's lodgegates and escaped
to his residence in a state of prickly heat that required the brushing of
his hair with hard brushes for several minutes to comfort and
re-establish him.
He had fallen to working in his garden, when Lady Camper's card was
brought to him an hour after the delivery of his own; a pleasing
promptitude, showing signs of repentance, and suggesting to the General
instantly some sharp sarcasms upon women, which he had come upon in
quotations in the papers and the pulpit, his two main sources of
information.
Instead of handing back the card to the maid, he stuck it in his hat and
went on digging.
The first of a series of letters containing shameless realistic
caricatures was handed to him the afternoon following. They came fast and
thick.
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