Explore "Mistress Betty Carew" by Mary Gaunt on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Scorn'd, to be scorned by one that I scorn, Is that a matter to make me fret?
THE WEEK'S work was done, and Betty sat with folded hands and looked out of the window on to her garden. She was not all unhappy. Sometimes in the darkness and loneliness of the night she remembered with bitter tears that her lot was lonely and her life spoiled, but in the daytime her hands were busy and the cares of the farm were on her shoulders.