Gabriel was not visible anywhere.
“Perhaps he is already gone!” she said.
Tall came into the inclosure, and leapt off, his face tragic as Morton’s after the battle of Shrewsbury.
“Well?” said Bathsheba, unwilling to believe that her verbal lettre-de-cachet could possibly have miscarried.
“He says beggars mustn’t be choosers,” replied Laban.
“What!” said the young farmer, opening her eyes and drawing in her breath for an outburst. Joseph Poorgrass retired a few steps behind a hurdle.
“He says he shall not come onless you request en to come civilly and in a proper manner, as becomes any ’ooman begging a favour.”
“Oh, oh, that’s his answer! Where does he get his airs? Who am I, then, to be treated like that? Shall I beg to a man who has begged to me?”
Another of the flock sprang into the air, and fell dead.
The men looked grave, as if they suppressed opinion.