Explore "Daniel Deronda" by George Eliot on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"I will not clothe myself in wreck -- wear gems / Sawed from cramped finger-bones of women drowned; / Feel chilly vaporous hands of ireful ghosts / Clutching my necklace: trick my maiden breast / With orphans' heritage. Let your dead love / Marry its dead. "
Gwendolen looked lovely and vigorous as a tall, newly-opened lily the next morning: there was a reaction of young energy in her, and yesterday's self-distrust seemed no more than the transient shiver on the surface of a full stream. The roving archery match in Cardell Chase was a delightful prospect for the sport's sake: she felt herself beforehand moving about like a wood-nymph under the beeches (in appreciative company), and the imagined scene lent a charm to further advances on the part of Grandcourt -- not an impassioned lyrical Daphnis for the wood-nymph, certainly: but so much the better. Today Gwendolen foresaw him making slow conversational approaches to a declaration, and foresaw herself awaiting and encouraging it according to the rational conclusion which she had expressed to her uncle.