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Tennyson, Alfred Lord, 1809-1892

"Becket and other plays"

You heard him say it was one of his
bad days. He will be sure to know you to-morrow.
EVA.
It is almost the last of my bad days, I think. I am very faint. I must
lie down. Give me your arm. Lead me back again.
[DORA _takes_ EVA _into inner room_.
_Enter_ MILLY.
MILLY.
Miss Dora! Miss Dora!
DORA (_returning and leaving the bedroom door ajar_).
Quiet! quiet! What is it?
MILLY.
Mr. 'Arold, Miss.
DORA.
Below?
MILLY.
Yeaes, Miss. He be saaeyin' a word to the owd man, but he'll coom up if
ye lets 'im.
DORA.
Tell him, then, that I'm waiting for him.
MILLY.
Yeaes, Miss.
[_Exit_. DORA _sits pensively and waits_.
_Enter_ HAROLD.
HAROLD.
You are pale, my Dora! but the ruddiest cheek
That ever charm'd the plowman of your wolds
Might wish its rose a lily, could it look
But half as lovely. I was speaking with
Your father, asking his consent--you wish'd me--
That we should marry: he would answer nothing,
I could make nothing of him; but, my flower,
You look so weary and so worn! What is it
Has put you out of heart?
DORA.


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