"Well, Mr. Shaw? Do you feel like a changed man? A pillar of the establishment?"
But as he slid the band onto Charlotte’s finger, his voice lost its theatrical edge. For a fleeting second, the satirist vanished. He looked at this "Green-Eyed Millionairess" who had nursed him back to health and challenged his every dogma, and he felt something dangerously close to the very sentiment he spent his career mocking.
Charlotte laughed, pulling him toward the carriage. "Only five thousand, George? You’re getting soft in your old age." Getting Married by George Bernard Shaw
"You look remarkably like a prisoner waiting for the gaoler, George," Charlotte remarked, her eyes twinkling behind her spectacles.
The ceremony was brisk. Shaw, true to form, attempted to interrupt the proceedings twice—once to question the phrasing of "lawful impediment" and again to suggest that the room’s ventilation was a crime against public health. "Well, Mr
When it came time for the rings, Shaw fumbled. "A gold hoop," he muttered. "The smallest handcuff ever forged by man."
"Here I am," he sighed. "A victim of my own exhaustion. I have worked myself into a state of physical collapse, and you, Charlotte, are the only person with the efficiency to see that I am properly buried or properly fed. Since I am not yet ready for the former, I suppose we must proceed with the latter via this legal ritual." A pillar of the establishment
He stood in the hallway of the West Strand Registry Office, tugging at his rough, woollen jacket. Beside him stood Charlotte Payne-Townshend, a woman of formidable intellect and even more formidable patience. She was dressed sensibly; George was dressed, as usual, like a hedge that had decided to take up socialist lecturing.