"I did not wish you to read it, and
you have read it. It can't be helped. We won't speak of it again."
"It is my duty to speak of it."
Hester made an impatient movement.
"But it is not mine to listen," she said. "Besides, I know all you are
going to say--the same as about _The Idyll_, only worse. That it is
coarse and profane and exaggerated, and that I have put in improprieties
in order to make it sell, and that I run down the clergy, and that the
book ought never to be published. Dear James, spare me. You and I shall
never agree on certain subjects. Let us be content to differ."
Mr. Gresley was disconcerted. Your antagonist has no business to
discount all you were going to remark by saying it first.
His color was gradually leaving him. This was worse than an Easter
vestry meeting, and that was saying a good deal.
"I cannot stand by calmly and see you walk over a precipice if I can
forcibly hold you back," he said. "I think, Hester, you forget that it
is my affection for you that makes me try to restrain you. It is for
your own sake that--that--"
"That what?"
"That I cannot allow this book to be published," said Mr. Gresley, in a
low voice. He hardly ever lowered his voice.
There was a moment's pause. Hester felt the situation was serious.
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