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actor actress admired angel baize beautiful begged Bloomsbury Square bowed Bracegirdle brute Cibber Clive Colander Colley Colley Cibber colour comedy country wife Covent Garden creature cried Mabel cried Triplet cried Vane dear door dramatic dress epilogue Ernest eyes F. C. BURNAND face Falstaff fell gentleman green-room hand happy head hear heart Heaven honour husband innocent instantly James Burdock James Quin Kitty Clive knew laugh letter London look lover Lucy Lysimachus Ma'am Mabel Vane Madam Margaret Woffington mind never night painted Peg Woffington picture play Pompey poor Triplet Quin replied rose round servant Shropshire sigh Sir Charles Pomander smile Snarl Soaper soul stage suddenly sweet talent tell theatre thing thought told tone took tragedies trembled turned Vane's vanity voice whilst wife woman words young
Page 237 - It was a cruel stroke ! A gasping sigh broke from her. At this Dr. Bowdler looked up, and to his horror saw the sweet face he had doomed to the tomb looking earnestly and anxiously at him, and very pale and grave. He was shocked ; and, strange to say, she, whose death-warrant he had signed, ran and brought him a glass of wine, for he was quite overcome. Then she gave him her hand in her own sweet way, and bade him not grieve for her, for she was not afraid to die, and had long learned that "life...
Page 200 - Oh, be generous to the weak ! oh, give him back to me ! What is one heart more to you ? You are so rich ! and I am so poor that without his love I have nothing, and can do nothing but sit me down and cry till my heart breaks. Give him back to me, beautiful, terrible woman...
Page 194 - She interrupted his compliments, and begged him to , see whether she was followed by a gentleman in a cloak. Triplet looked out of the window. ; "Sir Charles Pomander !" gasped he. Sir Charles was at the very door. If, however, he had intended to mount the stairs he changed his mind, for he suddenly went off round the corner with a business-like air, real or fictitious. "He is gone. Madam,
Page 190 - I will feed his passion full, tempt him, torture him, play with him, as the angler plays a fish upon his hook. And, when his very life depends on me, then by degrees he shall see me cool, and cool, and freeze into bitter aversion. Then he shall rue the hour he fought with the Devil against my soul, and played false with a brain and heart like mine ! " . . " But his poor wife ? You will have pity on her ? " " His wife ! Are wives' hearts the only hearts that throb, and burn, and break?