B. Your book would be closed at the same moment—worn out—quite worn out.
A. In the dead of the night, a fire breaks out—she is already in the midst of the flames—
B. Where your book would also be by the disgusted reader—worse and worse.
A. Confound it—you will not allow me to expose her to earth, air, fire, or water. I have a great mind to hang her in her garters, and make the hero come and cut her down.
B. You might do worse—and better.
A. What—hang myself?
B. That certainly would put an end to all your difficulties. But, Ansard, I think I can put your heroine in a situation really critical and eminently distressing, and the hero shall come to her relief, like the descent of a god to the rescue of a Greek or Trojan warrior.
A. Or of Bacchus to Ariadne in her distress.
B. Perhaps a better simile. The consequence will be, that eternal gratitude in the bosom of the maiden will prove the parent of eternal love, which eternity of passion will of course until they are married.
A. I’m all attention.