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less they were sordid; and for the majority, who are not lofty,
there is no escape from sordidness but by being free from
money-craving, with all its base hopes and temptations, its
watching for death, its hinted requests. its horse-dealer’s de-
sire to make bad work pass for good, its seeking for function
which ought to be another’s, its compulsion often to long for
Luck in the shape of a wide calamity.
It was because Lydgate writhed under the idea of get-
ting his neck beneath this vile yoke that he had fallen into
a bitter moody state which was continually widening Rosa-
mond’s alienation from him. After the first disclosure about
the bill of sale, he had made many efforts to draw her into
sympathy with him about possible measures for narrow-
ing their expenses, and with the threatening approach of
Christmas his propositions grew more and more definite.
‘We two can do with only one servant, and live on very little,’
he said, ‘and I shall manage with one horse.’ For Lydgate, as
we have seen, had begun to reason, with a more distinct vi-
sion, about the expenses of living, and any share of pride he
had given to appearances of that sort was meagre compared
with the pride which made him revolt from exposure as a
debtor, or from asking men to help him with their money.
‘Of course you can dismiss the other two servants, if you
like,’ said Rosamond; ‘but I should have thought it would be
very injurious to your position for us to live in a poor way.
You must expect your practice to be lowered.’
‘My dear Rosamond, it is not a question of choice. We
have begun too expensively. Peacock, you know, lived in
a much smaller house than this. It is my fault: I ought to