"Well now," she exclaimed, "dear, dear me, and is that manuscript?
I've often heard talk about manuscripts, but I never thought I
should live to see some myself. Well! well! So that is really
manuscript?"
There were a few geraniums in the window and they did not look well.
Ernest asked Mrs. Jupp if she understood flowers. "I understand the
language of flowers," she said, with one of her most bewitching leers,
and on this we sent her off till she should choose to honour us with
another visit, which she knows she is privileged from time to time
to do, for Ernest likes her.
CHAPTER LXXXVI
AND now I must bring my story to a close.
The preceding chapter was written soon after the events it
records- that is to say in the spring of 1867. By that time my story
had been written up to this point; but it has been altered here and
there from time to time occasionally. It is now the autumn of 1882,
and if I am to say more I should do so quickly, for I am eighty
years old and though well in health cannot conceal from myself that
I am no longer young. Ernest himself is forty-seven, though he
hardly looks it.
He is richer than ever, for he has never married and his London
and North-Western shares have nearly doubled themselves.
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