The Carrier looked at her, and then at him, and then at
her, and then at him again.
'She honours and obeys, no doubt, you know,' said Tackleton; 'and
that, as I am not a man of sentiment, is quite enough for ME. But
do you think there's anything more in it?'
'I think,' observed the Carrier, 'that I should chuck any man out
of window, who said there wasn't.'
'Exactly so,' returned the other with an unusual alacrity of
assent. 'To be sure! Doubtless you would. Of course. I'm
certain of it. Good night. Pleasant dreams!'
The Carrier was puzzled, and made uncomfortable and uncertain, in
spite of himself. He couldn't help showing it, in his manner.
'Good night, my dear friend!' said Tackleton, compassionately.
'I'm off. We're exactly alike, in reality, I see. You won't give
us to-morrow evening? Well! Next day you go out visiting, I know.
I'll meet you there, and bring my wife that is to be. It'll do her
good. You're agreeable? Thank'ee. What's that!'
It was a loud cry from the Carrier's wife: a loud, sharp, sudden
cry, that made the room ring, like a glass vessel.
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