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The White Boar's Head: Student Union Bar at the University of Milton North

999 replies

DumSpiroSpero · 28/09/2011 23:09

Student discounts available on all varieties of Chateau Gisborne and Polish Cordial.

OP posts:
LadyDamerel · 29/09/2011 22:27

::packs self into Small's suitcase, on the off chance of a NZ trip::

::realises bag will be well over weight limit::

::chops off arms and legs::

SupermassiveLBD · 29/09/2011 22:27

rocket , obviously

Russianpony · 29/09/2011 22:28

To be fair lady d, I really don't blame you - that picture was rather distractingConfused!!

Oooh yes you off to new Zealand! Damn should have encourage the colonel to get rugby world cup tickets!!Grin

ComeIntoTheGardenMaud · 29/09/2011 22:30
SupermassiveLBD · 29/09/2011 22:34

Noooo! She can't take the curtains with her!

ComeIntoTheGardenMaud · 29/09/2011 22:36

But this wouldn't be the curtains. It would be the real thing.

LadyDamerel · 29/09/2011 22:43
LadyDamerel · 29/09/2011 22:45

If you go for a romantic stroll in the woods, make sure you know where you are going.

ComeIntoTheGardenMaud · 29/09/2011 22:46

Stately home visiting can be exhausting. She may need a refreshing cup of tea.

LadyDamerel · 29/09/2011 22:56

(Totally off topic, but does dear old Claude appear to be channelling Gizzy here?)

DumSpiroSpero · 29/09/2011 22:57

Smile at 'cup of tea'. Miss S us having a Victorian tea party at school next week. I was wondering if is get away with sticking this in her learning journal for reference and whether I should offer her teacher a loan of N & S as a valuable educational resource

OP posts:
DumSpiroSpero · 29/09/2011 22:58

I don't think so, Lady D - there's too much hope in those eyes.

And it is a really beautiful picture of the eyes...wibble!

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LadyDamerel · 29/09/2011 23:03

It was hopeful-Marian's-given-me-a-scrap-of-affection-Guy that it reminded me of, Spiro. End part of S1 or mid S2 when he thinks he lurves her.

SupermassiveLBD · 29/09/2011 23:03

Maybe Small could go for some nice riding lessons too, in the fresh air.

DumSpiroSpero · 29/09/2011 23:05

In that case, Lady D, I stand corrected. I'm not quite far enough through season 2 to have seen that look yet!

OP posts:
ComeIntoTheGardenMaud · 29/09/2011 23:05

::Non-committal about Claude's goatee::

Ah, I should have listed The Impressionists in my Pile of Admiration.

This is what you should paste into MissS's learning journal, Spiro.

No one ever knew why Mr. Lennox did not keep to his appointment on the following day. Mr. Thornton came true to his time; and, after keeping him waiting for nearly an hour, Margaret came in looking very white and anxious.

She began hurriedly:

'I am so sorry Mr. Lennox is not here,he could have done it so much better than I can. He is my adviser in this'--

'I am sorry that I came, if it troubles you. Shall I go to Mr. Lennox's chambers and try and find him?'

'No, thank you. I wanted to tell you, how grieved I was to find that I am to lose you as a tenant. But, Mr. Lennox says, things are sure to brighten'----

'Mr. Lennox knows little about it,' said Mr. Thornton quietly. 'Happy and fortunate in all a man cares for, he does not understand what it is to find oneself no longer youngyet thrown back to the starting-point which requires the hopeful energy of youthto feel one half of life gone, and nothing done?nothing remaining of wasted opportunity, but the bitter recollection that it has been. Miss Hale, I would rather not hear Mr. Lennox's opinion of my affairs. Those who are happy and successful themselves are too apt to make light of the misfortunes of others.'

'You are unjust,' said Margaret, gently. 'Mr. Lennox has only spoken of the great probability which he believes there to be of your redeemingyour more than redeeming what you have lostdon't speak till I have ended--pray don't!' And collecting herself once more, she went on rapidly turning over some law papers, and statements of accounts in a trembling hurried manner.
'Oh! here it is! And he drew me out a proposal I wish he was here to explain itshowing that if you would take some money of mine, eighteen thousand and fifty-seven pounds, lying just at this moment unused in the bank, and bringing me in only two and a half per cent. you could pay me much better interest, and might go on working Marlborough Mills.' Her voice had cleared itself and become more steady. Mr. Thornton did not speak, and she went on looking for some paper on which were written down the proposals for security; for she was most anxious to have it all looked upon in the light of a mere business arrangement, in which the principal advantage would be on her side. While she sought for this paper, her very heart-pulse was arrested by the tone in which Mr. Thornton spoke. His voice was hoarse, and trembling with tender passion, as he said: --


For an instant she looked up; and then sought to veil her luminous eyes by dropping her forehead on her hands. Again, stepping nearer, he besought her with another tremulous eager call upon her name.


Still lower went the head; more closely hidden was the face, almost resting on the table before her. He came close to her. He knelt by her side, to bring his face to a level with her ear; and whispered-panted out the words:--

'Take care.If you do not speakI shall claim you as my own in some strange presumptuous way.Send me away at once, if I must go;
Margaret! --'

At that third call she turned her face, still covered with her small white hands, towards him, and laid it on his shoulder, hiding it even there; and it was too delicious to feel her soft cheek against his, for him to wish to see either deep blushes or loving eyes. He clasped her close. But they both kept silence. At length she murmured in a broken voice:

'Oh, Mr. Thornton, I am not good enough!'

'Not good enough! Don't mock my own deep feeling of unworthiness.'
After a minute or two, he gently disengaged her hands from her face, and laid her arms as they had once before been placed to protect him from the rioters.

'Do you remember, love?' he murmured. 'And how I requited you with my insolence the next day?'

'I remember how wrongly I spoke to you,--that is all.'

'Look here! Lift up your head. I have something to show you!' She slowly faced him, glowing with beautiful shame.

'Do you know these roses?' he said, drawing out his pocket-book, in which were treasured up some dead flowers.

'No!' she replied, with innocent curiosity. 'Did I give them to you?'

'No! Vanity; you did not. You may have worn sister roses very probably.'
She looked at them, wondering for a minute, then she smiled a little as she said?

'They are from Helstone, are they not? I know the deep indentations round the leaves. Oh! have you been there? When were you there?'

'I wanted to see the place where Margaret grew to what she is, even at the worst time of all, when I had no hope of ever calling her mine. I went there on my return from Havre.'

'You must give them to me,' she said, trying to take them out of his hand with gentle violence.

'Very well. Only you must pay me for them!'

'How shall I ever tell Aunt Shaw?' she whispered, after some time of delicious silence.

'Let me speak to her.'

'Oh, no! I owe to her,--but what will she say?

'I can guess. Her first exclamation will be, "That man!"'

'Hush!' said Margaret, 'or I shall try and show you your mother's indignant tones as she says, "That woman!"'

LadyDamerel · 29/09/2011 23:08

Oh god, that horse clip gets me every time, now I have the Academy take on it running through my head Grin.

ComeIntoTheGardenMaud · 29/09/2011 23:13
LadyDamerel · 29/09/2011 23:14

Elizabeth Gaskell's ending to North and South is so beautiful, Maud. Although the "You're coming home with me?" in the adaptation is possibly the finest final line ever written.

LadyDamerel · 29/09/2011 23:16

An encounter like that would certainly brighten up your average English Heritage day out Grin.

SupermassiveLBD · 29/09/2011 23:18

Poor Gizzy, he does go for it, doesn't he, when he gets the chance.

ComeIntoTheGardenMaud · 29/09/2011 23:19

Again, we'll have to agree to differ, LadyDamerel. The TV ending did a good job of tying up the loose ends, but I think there is more power and (crucially) humour, and the characters are truer to their earlier selves, in Mrs Gaskell's version. I've just decided to 'do' Wives and Daughters next.

ComeIntoTheGardenMaud · 29/09/2011 23:28

Perhpas MissSpiro could present her teacher with this...?

Mr. Thornton stood by one of the windows, with his back to the door, apparently absorbed in watching something in the street. But, in truth, he was afraid of himself. His heart beat thick at the thought of her coming. He could not forget the touch of her arms around his neck, impatiently felt as it had been at the time; but now the recollection of her clinging defence of him, seemed to thrill him through and through,--to melt away every resolution, all power of self-control, as if it were wax before a fire. He dreaded lest he should go forwards to meet her, with his arms held out in mute entreaty that she would come and nestle there, as she had done, all unheeded, the day before, but never unheeded again. His heart throbbed loud and quick Strong man as he was, he trembled at the anticipation of what he had to say, and how it might be received. She might droop, and flush, and flutter to his arms, as to her natural home and resting-place. One moment, he glowed with impatience at the thought that she might do this, the next, he feared a passionate rejection, the very idea of which withered up his future with so deadly a blight that he refused to think of it. He was startled by the sense of the presence of some one else in the room. He turned round. She had come in so gently, that he had never heard her; the street noises had been more distinct to his inattentive ear than her slow movements, in her soft muslin gown.

She stood by the table, not offering to sit down. Her eyelids were dropped half over her eyes; her teeth were shut, not compressed; her lips were just parted over them, allowing the white line to be seen between their curve. Her slow deep breathings dilated her thin and beautiful nostrils; it was the only motion visible on her countenance. The fine-grained skin, the oval cheek, the rich outline of her mouth, its corners deep set in dimples,--were all wan and pale to-day; the loss of their usual natural healthy colour being made more evident by the heavy shadow of the dark hair, brought down upon the temples, to hide all sign of the blow she had received. Her head, for all its drooping eyes, was thrown a little back, in the old proud attitude. Her long arms hung motion-less by her sides. Altogether she looked like some prisoner, falsely accused of a crime that she loathed and despised, and from which she was too indignant to justify herself

Mr. Thornton made a hasty step or two forwards; recovered himself, and went with quiet firmness to the door (which she had left open), and shut it. Then he came back, and stood opposite to her for a moment, receiving the general impression of her beautiful presence, before he dared to disturb it, perhaps to repel it, by what he had to say.

'Miss Hale, I was very ungrateful yesterday--'

'You had nothing to be grateful for,' said she, raising her eyes, and looking full and straight at him. 'You mean, I suppose, that you believe you ought to thank me for what I did.' In spite of herselfin defiance of her angerthe thick blushes came all over her face, and burnt into her very eyes; which fell not nevertheless from their grave and steady look. 'It was only a natural instinct; any woman would have done just the same. We all feel the sanctity of our sex as a high privilege when we see danger. I ought rather,' said she, hastily, 'to apologise to you, for having said thoughtless words which sent you down into the danger.'

'It was not your words; it was the truth they conveyed, pun-gently as it was expressed. But you shall not drive me off upon that, and so escape the expression of my deep gratitude, my--' he was on the verge now; he would not speak in the haste of his hot passion; he would weigh each word. He would; and his will was triumphant. He stopped in mid career.

'I do not try to escape from anything,' said she. 'I simply say, that you owe me no gratitude; and I may add, that any expression of it will be painful to me, because I do not feel that I deserve it. Still, if it will relieve you from even a fancied obligation, speak on.'

'I do not want to be relieved from any obligation,' said he, goaded by her calm manner. Fancied, or not fanciedI question not myself to know whichI choose to believe that I owe my very life to youaysmile, and think it an exaggeration if you will. I believe it, because it adds a value to that life to thinkoh, Miss Hale!' continued he, lowering his voice to such a tender intensity of passion that she shivered and trembled before him, 'to think circumstance so wrought, that whenever I exult in existence henceforward, I may say to myself, "All this gladness in life, all honest pride in doing my work in the world, all this keen sense of being, I owe to her!" And it doubles the gladness, it makes the pride glow, it sharpens the sense of existence till I hardly know if it is pain or pleasure, to think that I owe it to onenay, you must, you shall hear'said he, stepping forwards with stern determination'to one whom I love, as I do not believe man ever loved woman before.' He held her hand tight in his. He panted as he listened for what should come. He threw the hand away with indignation, as he heard her icy tone; for icy it was, though the words came faltering out, as if she knew not where to find them.

'Your way of speaking shocks me. It is blasphemous. I cannot help it, if that is my first feeling. It might not be so, I dare say, if I understood the kind of feeling you describe. I do not want to vex you; and besides, we must speak gently, for mamma is asleep; but your whole manner offends me--'

'How!' exclaimed he. 'Offends you! I am indeed most unfortunate.'

'Yes!' said she, with recovered dignity. 'I do feel offended; and, I think, justly. You seem to fancy that my conduct of yesterday'again the deep carnation blush, but this time with eyes kindling with indignation rather than shame'was a personal act between you and me; and that you may come and thank me for it, instead of perceiving, as a gentleman would--yes! A gentleman,' she repeated, in allusion to their former conversation about that word, 'that any woman, worthy of the name of woman, would come forward to shield, with her reverenced helplessness, a man in danger from the violence of numbers.'

'And the gentleman thus rescued is forbidden the relief of thanks!' he broke in contemptuously. 'I am a man. I claim the right of expressing my feelings.'

'And I yielded to the right; simply saying that you gave me pain by insisting upon it,' she replied, proudly. 'But you seem to have imagined, that I was not merely guided by womanly instinct, but'and here the passionate tears (kept down for longstruggled with vehemently) came up into her eyes, and choked her voice'but that I was prompted by some particular feeling for youyou! Why, there was not a mannot a poor desperate man in all that crowdfor whom I had not more sympathy--for whom I should not have done what little I could more heartily.'

'You may speak on, Miss Hale. I am aware of all these misplaced sympathies of yours. I now believe that it was only your innate sense of oppression(yes; I, though a master, may be oppressed)that made you act so nobly as you did. I know you despise me; allow me to say, it is because you do not understand me.'

'I do not care to understand,' she replied, taking hold of the table to steady herself; for she thought him cruelas, indeed, he wasand she was weak with her indignation.

'No, I see you do not. You are unfair and unjust.'

Margaret compressed her lips. She would not speak in answer to s ch accusations. But, for all that--for all his savage words, he could have thrown himself at her feet, and kissed the hem of her garment. She did not speak; she did not move. The tears of wounded pride fell hot and fast. He waited awhile, longing for her to say something, even a taunt, to which he might reply. But she was silent. He took up his hat.

'One word more. You look as if you thought it tainted you to be loved by me. You cannot avoid it. Nay, I, if I would, cannot cleanse you from it. But I would not, if I could. I have never loved any woman before: my life has been too busy, my thoughts too much absorbed with other things. Now I love, and will love. But do not be afraid of too much expression on my part.'

'I am not afraid,' she replied, lifting herself straight up. 'No one yet has ever dared to be impertinent to me, and no one ever shall. But, Mr. Thornton, you have been very kind to my father,' said she, changing her whole tone and bearing to a most womanly softness. 'Don't let us go on making each other angry. Pray don't!' He took no notice of her words: he occupied himself in smoothing the nap of his hat with his coat-sleeve, for half a minute or so; and then, rejecting her offered hand, and making as if he did not see her grave look of regret, he turned abruptly away, and left the room. Margaret caught one glance at his face before he went.

When he was gone, she thought she had seen the gleam of washed tears in his eyes; and that turned her proud dislike into something different and kinder, if nearly as painful--self-reproach for having caused such mortification to any one.

::Collapses somewhere around I am a man. I claim the right of expressing my feelings and reaches feebly for the vinaigrette::

SupermassiveLBD · 29/09/2011 23:32

The gleam of washed tears... Oh wibblissimo...

SupermassiveLBD · 29/09/2011 23:33

You write a great fanfic, Maudie Grin

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