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AURORA LEIGH.
We're mortal.'—'We remind them of it.'—'Hark,The bride comes! Here she comes, in a stream of milk!'—'There? Dear, you are asleep still; don't you knowThe five Miss Granvilles? always dressed in whiteTo show they're ready to be married.'—'Lower!The aunt is at your elbow.'—'Lady Maud,Did Lady Waldemar tell you she had seenThis girl of Leigh's?' 'No,—wait! 'twas Mrs. Brookes,Who told me Lady Waldemar told her—No, 'twasn't Mrs. Brookes.'—'She's pretty?'—'Who?Mrs.Brookes? Lady Waldemar?'—'How hot!Pray is't the law to-day we're not to breathe?You're treading on my shawl—I thank you, sir.'—'They say the bride's a mere child, who can't read,But knows the things she shouldn't, with wide-awakeGreat eyes. I'd go through fire to look at her.'—'You do, I think.'—'and Lady Waldemar(You see her; sitting close to Romney Leigh;How beautiful she looks, a little flushed!)Has taken up the girl, and organisedLeigh's folly. Should I have come here, you suppose,Except she'd asked me?'—'She'd have served him moreBy marrying him herself.''Ah—there she comes,The bride, at last!''Indeed, no. Past eleven.She puts off her patched petticoat to-dayAnd puts on May-fair manners, so beginsBy setting us to wait.'—'Yes, yes, this LeighWas always odd; it's in the blood, I think;