Mr Marmaduke and the Ministerby Wilkie Collins
Format of Original Source: Novella
Recommended Adaptation Length:
Candidate for Adaptation? Not Reviewed
September 12th.–Is my miserable son-in-law’s house under a curse? The yellow-haired woman in the open carriage drove up to the door at half-past ten this morning, in a state of distraction. Felicia and I saw her from the drawing-room balcony–a tall woman in gorgeous garments. She knocked with her own hand at the door–she cried out distractedly, “Where is he? I must see him!” At the sound of her voice, Marmaduke (playing with his little dog in the drawing-room) rushed downstairs and out into the street. “Hold your tongue!” we heard him say to her. “What are you here for?”
What she answered we failed to hear; she was certainly crying. Marmaduke stamped on the pavement like a man beside himself–took her roughly by the arm, and led her into the house.
Before I could utter a word, Felicia left me and flew headlong down the stairs.
She was in time to hear the dining-room locked. Following her, I prevented the poor jealous creature from making a disturbance at the door. God forgive me–not knowing how else to quiet her–I degraded myself by advising her to listen to what they said. She instantly opened the door of the back dining-room, and beckoned to me to follow. I naturally hesitated. “I shall go mad,” she whispered, “if you leave me by myself!” What could I do? I degraded myself the second time. For my own child–in pity for my own child!
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