Explore "Love" by Elizabeth Von Arnim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
She never did. And it was just as well, thought Christopher, for Catherine had, most astoundingly, taken it into her head to be jealous of her. She wouldn't admit she was, and professed immense admiration for Miss Wickford's beauty, but if the emotion she showed after that dinner wasn't jealousy he was blest if he knew what jealousy was.
It amazed him. She might have heard every word he said. Miss Wickford was extremely pretty and quite clever, and why shouldn't he like talking to her? But he was very sorry to have made Catherine unhappy, and did all he knew to make her forget it; only it was suffocating sort of work in hot weather, and he felt as if he were tied up in something very sweet and sticky, with no end to it. Rather like treacle. It was rather like being swathed round with bands of treacle.