Explore "Uncle Abraham's Romance" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"No, my dear," my Uncle Abraham answered me, "no -- nothing romantic ever happened to me -- unless -- but no: that wasn't romantic either -- -- "
I was. To me, I being eighteen, romance was the world. My Uncle Abraham was old and lame. I followed the gaze of his faded eyes, and my own rested on a miniature that hung at his elbow-chair's right hand, a portrait of a woman, whose loveliness even the miniature-painter's art had been powerless to disguise -- a woman with large lustrous eyes and perfect oval face.