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 lating, in a hoarse inward voice, "Curse her!"

Juliet stared at him, affrighted by his violence.

"Can it be possible," he cried, "that so execrable a fate should be reserved for so exquisite a piece of workmanship? Sweet witch! were I but ten years younger, I would snatch you from her infernal claws!—or rather, could I cut off twenty;—yet even then the disparity would be too great!—thirty years younger,—or perhaps forty,—my hand and fortune should teach that Fury her distance!"

Juliet, surprised, and doubting whether what dropt from him were escaped sincerity, or purposed irony, looked with so serious a perplexity, that, struck and ashamed, he checked himself; and recovering his usually polite equanimity, smiled at his own warmth, saying, "Don't be alarmed, I beg! Don't imagine that I shall forget myself; nor want to hurry away, lest my animation should