Page 38 of Fortuitous Encounters

“No, Mama.”

“You listen, and listen good young lady! The next time you want Bennet Darcy in the slimiest, stinkiest part of the mill pond, and wish to keep him there for a half-hour, you should perfectly well be able to do that with your words alone. Shoving is for boys.”

“Yes, Mama.”

~

“I hear, Benita pushed you into the mill pond, son?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“In the slimiest, greasiest, slinkiest end?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“And held you in there with a stick… a stick… for a full half-hour?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Embarrassing you in front of your friends?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Demonstrating a thoroughly unacceptable level of weakness for a Darcy?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Ruining your best suit, which will not please your mother. You may be wearing a loincloth to church next Sunday.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“So, she just shoved you in?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“And she never said anything? No words of anger? No explanation? No nothing?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Not a single word?”

“Not a word, Papa. Not even a syllable.”

“Lucky Boy! You dodged a bullet there!”

“Don't I know it! It could have been soooo much worse. I could see her winding up to talk before she shoved me in.”

“Big, Big, Bullet!”

“Enormous!”

“Gigantic!”

“Colossal!”

“She might have kept you in there all day looking for a sharp rock to slit your own throat with.”

“At the least! Probably worse.”