But if faither had
knawed I weer never for Noy, he'd a' said more'n that. I ban't 'feared o'
faither now I knaws you, Jan, but I be cruel 'feared o' bein' cussed,
'cause theer's times when cusses doan't fall to the ground but sticks.
'Twouldn' be well for the likes o' you to have a ill-wished, awver-luked
body for wife. An' if faither knawed 'bout you, then I lay he'd do more'n
speak. So like's not he'd strike me dead for't, bein' that religious. But
you must take me away, Jan, dear heart. I'm yourn now an' you must go on
lovin' me allus, 'cause theer'll never be nobody else to not now. I've
chose you an' gived 'e myself an' I caan't do no more."
He listened to her delicious voice, and shut out the crude words as much as
might be while he marked the music. He was thinking that if Joan had
possessed a reasonable measure of intellect, a foundation for an education,
he would have been satisfied to keep her about him during that probably
limited number of years which must span his existence. But the gulf between
them was too wide; and, as for the present position, he considered that no
harm had been done which time would not remedy. Joan was not sufficiently
intelligent to suffer long or much. She would forget quickly. She was very
young. Her sailor must return before the end of the year. Then he began to
think of money, and then sneered at himself. But, after all, it was natural
that he should follow step by step upon the beaten track of similar events.
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