Curse me if I care what you do. Now, you understand, don't 'ee
go agreeing to it to please me."
Here the subject dropped, and nothing more was said, and nothing was
done, and Elizabeth still passed as Miss Newson, and not by her legal
name.
Meanwhile the great corn and hay traffic conducted by Henchard throve
under the management of Donald Farfrae as it had never thriven before.
It had formerly moved in jolts; now it went on oiled casters. The old
crude viva voce system of Henchard, in which everything depended upon
his memory, and bargains were made by the tongue alone, was swept
away. Letters and ledgers took the place of "I'll do't," and "you shall
hae't"; and, as in all such cases of advance, the rugged picturesqueness
of the old method disappeared with its inconveniences.
The position of Elizabeth-Jane's room--rather high in the house, so
that it commanded a view of the hay-stores and granaries across the
garden--afforded her opportunity for accurate observation of what went
on there. She saw that Donald and Mr. Henchard were inseparables. When
walking together Henchard would lay his arm familiarly on his manager's
shoulder, as if Farfrae were a younger brother, bearing so heavily that
his slight frame bent under the weight. Occasionally she would hear
a perfect cannonade of laughter from Henchard, arising from something
Donald had said, the latter looking quite innocent and not laughing at
all.
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