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Meredith, Owen, 1831-1891

"Lucile"


The advice that I gave you--
ALFRED.
Advice?--let me see?
You ALWAYS are giving advice, Jack, to me.
About Parliament, was it?
JOHN.
Hang Parliament! no,
The Bank, the Bank, Alfred!
ALFRED.
What Bank?
JOHN.
Heavens! I know
You are careless;--but surely you have not forgotten,--
Or neglected . . . I warn'd you the whole thing was rotten.
You have drawn those deposits at least?
ALFRED.
No, I meant
To have written to-day; but the note shall be sent
To-morrow, however.
JOHN.
To-morrow? too late!
Too late! oh, what devil bewitch'd you to wait?
ALFRED.
Mercy save us! you don't mean to say . . .
JOHN.
Yes, I do.
ALFRED.
What! Sir Ridley?
JOHN.
Smash'd, broken, blown up, bolted too!
ALFRED.
But his own niece? . . . In Heaven's name, Jack . . .
JOHN.
Oh, I told you
The old hypocritical scoundrel would . . .
ALFRED.
Hold! you
Surely can't mean we are ruin'd?
JOHN.
Sit down!
A fortnight ago a report about town
Made me most apprehensive. Alas, and alas!
I at once wrote and warn'd you.


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