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Hello and welcome to Storytime for Grown Ups. I'm Faith Moore and this season we're reading David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Each episode I'll read a few chapters from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So brew a pot of tea, find a cozy chair and settle in. It's story time. Hi. I'm so happy to be here. I'm so happy you're here. I just, I wish you guys could see me at my computer when I check my email. I'm so excited when I see emails from you guys coming in. And there have been so many, so many lately that things are really starting to pick up. And you guys have so much to say and it's fantastic. I feel like we're having the most wonderful conversation. I know it's not actually a real time conversation, but there is so much back and forth going on here and I love reading your emails, I love answering them, I love getting to chat with you and I'm just so, so happy to be doing this. I'm so happy to be in the middle of this book with you. What a gift this is. So we have a lot to talk about. Since I got so many letters, it means that we have a lot to talk about. And this chapter is kind of like a medium length chapter. So I don't want to go on and on here at the beginning, but I do have one quick announcement which is that I have scheduled the tea time for June. So for those of you who don't know, tea time happens in our online community, which is called the drawing room, not because we draw lots of pictures over there, but because every lovely old Victorian house would have had a drawing room, which is short for withdrawing room, because that is where people would withdraw after dinner to keep the conversation going. To drink tea and maybe play music, play games, talk about things, read books, take a turn about the room, whatever it might be. And I like to think of this podcast as the main room of our lovely Victorian house. But we also have a drawing room where we get to withdraw after the show is over and keep the conversation going. We do that all the time just by typing to each other over there. And there's always something going on. I love checking in over there. But once a month for, for people who are signed up for the Landed Gentry membership tier, we have what is called tea time, which is a voice chat. So it's kind of like a group phone call. I can hear you. You can hear me. You can talk if you want and join in on the conversation, or you can just listen. We always talk about the book where we are so far and our thoughts and things like that. But also you can ask me anything so I answer questions on there. We sometimes talk about other books that we're enjoying reading or other things that are on our mind. So it's a really, really fun time. And it happens once a month. If you would like to join us and you're not yet a member of the draw, or you are a member, but you're a house guest, not landed gentry, just scroll into the show notes, click the link that's there. It's clearly labeled. That will take you to a page that gives you some more information about the drawing room and how it all works. It will not automatically sign you up for anything, I promise. You can make a decision after reading more, so check out that link. If you would like to join us for tea time, which is June 25th. It's another Thursday one this time, so June 25th at 8pm Eastern. And I say these are monthly, so they usually happen. Lately they've been happening kind of at the end of the month or so. I'm going to be traveling at the end of June, so I'm doing this one the week before the end of June, but that's fine. And so then there'll be another one close to the end of July, etc. Etc. So June 25th at 8:00pm Eastern. Please mark your calendars if that is something that's of interest to you. Other than that, before we get into this episode, just the usual things. Please make sure you're subscribed. Please please tap the five stars if you're enjoying the show. Those are right there in your podcast player. Also in your podcast player you can leave a positive review and that is really helpful. For mysterious reasons. It helps people to find the show who otherwise might not know about it. So that's a great thing to do. If you could, please and I would very much appreciate it. Also, I would really, really appreciate it if you would tell someone else about the show. You can text them a link to the show or a link to a specific episode and just let them know that you think that they might like it. Which will first of help the show by making it grow. But also then you'll have a friend in real life who you can talk about these books with, which is a wonderful thing to have. It's wonderful to have people in your life that you can talk about books with so hopefully you will do that and scroll into the show notes. There's lots of links there, so there might be something there that interests you. Again, you can find out about our online community, but also there's a merch store. You can buy some storytime for Grown Ups merch. There's a tip jar if you're interested in supporting the show that way. And there's a few other things, so I hope that you'll check out those links and check out Just tell everyone you know about the show. But okay, enough of that. Let's get into this. So last time we read chapter 44. Today we're reading chapter 45. Let's remind ourselves of what we read last time, chat for a bit and then let's keep going. So here is the recap. Okay, so where we left off. David and Dora are married now and they've set up their house in their little cottage. They hire a servant who's totally incompetent and steals from them and has a cousin who ultimately gets arrested in their front yard after her. They have a series of terrible servants and everyone seems to take advantage of them. Dora is a terrible housewife and can't keep the servants in order or manage the accounts or get the right foods or keep the house neat and tidy and the meals arriving on time. David tries to get her to become better at all of this, but she falls apart and she's horribly unhappy. David then tries to get Ms. Betsy, who lives in the cottage next door, to try to talk to her about all this, but Miss Betsy refuses and reminds David that he married Dora, knowing exactly who Dora was, and that trying to change her now seems a lot like what Mr. Murdstone tried to due to David's mother. This prompts David to realize that Dora just is who she is and he needs to accept that. They invite Traddles to dinner, which doesn't go very well in terms of the food and the house and everything, but Traddles is very kind and they have a nice time together. Dora asks David to think of her as his child wife, meaning she knows she doesn't measure up to what a wife should be and she wants him to think of her as a child wife so that he doesn't become upset with her or come to resent her. Over time, David realizes that he doesn't really have a partner in Dora and he finds this sort of sad, but he still loves Dora very much and he resigns himself to the way that they are living and he treats her more like the child that she is. David is becoming a well known writer and Dora loves to watch him write. And she asks to help him by holding his pens because she wants to be involved and she doesn't want him to give up on her. And ultimately they live very happily in this way and with Ms. Betsy too. Okay, I'm going to read four comments today. The first one comes from Corinthia. She says, Aunt Betsy is simply wonderful, so perceptive and full of wisdom. She offers David genuinely sound advice about his marriage, helping him see it with clarity. He has chosen Dora, who is beautiful and sweet but ultimately incapable of managing a household. In many ways she mirrors his mother. Aunt Betsy sees that clearly. This contrast only deepens my affection for Aunt Betsy and even more so for dear Peggy. Peggy never abused her position or took advantage of David's mother. Unlike the servant who mistreats Dora and David, her loyalty and inte stand out all the more in comparison. The next one comes from Kate R. She says, I love Aunt Betsy so much and her advice is always so good. I so appreciate that Aunt Betsy sees Dora for who she is and accepts her as she is. She doesn't want to intimidate her, shame her or dominate her. I am sure she sees this as a chance to make amends for how she treated and viewed David's mother. We have definitely seen Aunt Betsy's personal assessment of Clara softening over time as her recollections gradually tend more towards protective and endearing and away from admonishing. The next one is from Anne. She says, faith, you are too nice. This chapter made me dislike Dora more. Child wife. Ugh. Aunt Betsy's advice to David to not be harsh with her at first read made me want to say what? But it reminded me of the very beginning of the book. And if I remember correctly, David's father was in charge of everything, even the house. He loved his wife and recognized that she was not capable and just did the things necessary. And this last one is from Sarah. It's a bit long, but I want to read the whole thing because I think it's all relevant. So she says. This chapter made me cry. I really feel for both David and Dora. David wants a partner on equal footing, someone he can confide in and motivate him to be a better man. Dora is aware of her shortcomings but struggles to to execute and quickly falls back into her comfort zone of play, pretend and then Miss Betsy. As if I couldn't love this old lady anymore. She taught me something important. You have to meet people where they are and not expect them to be something they aren't. She looks at Dora and sees a poor, innocent child just like David's mother, and so she can't help but play along with her whims. Sometimes I wonder if she blames herself for how Klara died, for not keeping in touch with her, for not checking on her and teaching her how to take care of herself and be independent. She probably feels if she stayed with her, she wouldn't have fallen prey to the Murdstones, and then Clara would have lived and David wouldn't have lost a mother and a baby brother. I think she hints at this guilt in this chapter, but the gentleness of this fierce woman really had me shedding tears. Okay, so like I said, I got so many letters after this chapter, like, so many, and almost all of them were about Miss Betsy. I got lots about Dora. Right. We still have the two camps going on, by the way. I got lots about Dora, I got lots about David, but the vast majority of the letters I got were about Miss Betsy. And I understand why. Not only is Miss Betsy just a wonderful character, she is definitely one of my favorite characters, if not my actual favorite character in the whole book. So not only is she just fantastic on so many levels, but I think the reason that so many of you wanted to talk about her this time around is that she really is, like, the fulcrum of this whole chapter. She is the thing that lifts this chapter out of being just a sort of like, funny slash frustrating chapter about David and Dora's mishaps as newlyweds or whatever. So out of that and into an actually pivotal scene, because it's Miss Betsy who essentially names what's going on and gives David a choice not just for how to behave in the moment, but essentially for what kind of man he wants to be going forward. And I think that more broadly, that's what we love about Miss Betsy. We love that she has raised David, that she has risen to the task of being his mother and has given him not only the material things that he needed, like a home and clothes and food and an education and things like that, but the moral and spiritual things that he needed as well. She has made him into an upstanding and good man. And for a while there, that wasn't really a sure thing. Right? So we love her because of who she is and has been to David, and. And in this chapter, we really see that. So we're going to talk about that mostly today. But first, let's Just take a look at what's going on with Dora and David as they begin their married life and what it all kind of means. So the first thing I want to highlight is this really lovely little observation that Dickens gives us about the difference between courting someone and actually being married to them. We talked last time about how good Dickens is at bringing to life these very real seeming moments, these moments we can totally recognize that are so relatable. And I think this is one of them. Here's what David says. Sometimes of an evening when I looked up from my writing and saw her seated opposite, I would lean back in my chair and think how queer it was that there we were, alone together as a matter of course, nobody's business anymore. All the romance of our engagement put away upon a shelf to rust. No one to please but one another, one another to please for life. And I think that's so true about getting married, or at least about moving in together, right? Rather than just kind of dating the way in which, on the one hand, you kind of miss the excitement and the drama of the courtship, right? Like the stolen moments, the wondering whether this person really likes you, whether they love you, the sexual tension, all the first. The kind of endless discussion with friends about what's actually going on. It's all very exciting and romantic and filled with a kind of heightened emotion. But on the other hand, once all of that is over and you're actually married to the person and you're living together and no one else is involved, something deeper happens. And there's a sort of calmer, more sedate feeling of finally having the thing that you've wanted. And hopefully that deeper love grows into the kind of stability and partnership that's going to sustain you for your whole life. And Dickens has so wonderfully described that shift for David and Dora, right? The sudden realization that he's not the knight errant anymore. He has actually won the maiden. So now he's a much more settled, much calmer, much more sedate sort of thing, whatever that might be. And I think the question that we all have is, will this relationship deepen? Will it grow into that deep, sustaining thing, or. Or is that not actually going to happen here? And I think it's really wonderful how the chapter starts with this sort of comical description of all the ways that Dora is failing as a housewife and all the ways that they're being taken advantage of by their servants. But then, if you notice, it actually progresses from that into much deeper and more meaningful issues. Because, remember, David is always being Taken advantage of by servants. I mean, we're blaming Dora for this situation, and in a lot of ways, it is her fault. But I'm not convinced that if David had set up a house on his own and hired a servant, I'm not convinced that that servant wouldn't have taken advantage of him. You know, I got a lot of letters from people this time saying, like, ugh, Dora. She's so annoying. Look how she's making David wait for his meal and go out without eating and all of this. And yes, she is supposed to organize the household, which means making sure that the servants are doing what they're supposed to do and reprimanding them if they don't. But have we ever seen David take a servant to task? He also is always sort of meekly submitting to the whims of whatever weird servant he ends up with. I mean, look at Mrs. Crup, right? Dora had nothing to do with Mrs. Krupp, but she was exactly the same as the servants that they have now. And David never did anything to stop her. So the fact that these servants keep taking advantage of them is just one more installment in a series that's been going on since the very beginning of the book. And so when David tells Dora that she's got to take the servants in hand, right? So remember, he says, I am not blaming you, Dora. We have both a great deal to learn. I am only trying to show you, my dear, that you must. You really must accustom yourself to look after Marianne. Likewise to act a little for yourself and me, right? Okay. So when he says that, there's a way in which he's actually being sort of hypocritical. And this is why I think this chapter is so brilliant, because Dickens aligns us with David here. He makes us go like, yeah, Dora, come on, right? Get these servants in line. You got to figure out how to do this. You're married now. David needs a proper wife. He can't be thinking about the servants and the dinner and the oysters when he's supposed to be out working and earning money. That is your job, Dora. Get your act together. And Dickens makes us feel, as David does, that David is being very patient and very loving and very kind. I mean, he's talking to her very gently and trying to explain things to her very simply. Here's an example. He says, my precious wife, we must be serious sometimes. Come sit down on this chair, close beside me. Give me the pencil. There. Now, let us talk sensibly. You know, dear, you know, my Love. It is not exactly comfortable to have to go out without one's dinner, now, is it? Right. So Dickens writes it all as if David is completely in the right and Dora is completely in the wrong. And yet David would also have let the servants take advantage. We know he would. So he's actually asking her to do something that he himself has never been able to. To do. And this is the moment, I think, when the chapter turns from sort of silly newlywed hijinks to something much more serious. Because while it's true that Dora is totally incompetent and she can't manage the sorts of basic tasks that a housewife really ought to be able to do, like organizing dinner and keeping track of her spending and things like that, while all of that is true, this is the person that she has always been. This is the person that David married. And he has a choice here. He can try to change her and in the process make her miserable, or he can live with the choice that he made. And that's where Miss Betsy comes in. Because as many of you pointed out, this scenario that David is in is nearly identical to the situation that Clara, his mother, was in when she married Mr. Murdstone. And the scary thing about that is that. That if that's true, then Dora is Klara in this situation and David is Mr. Murdstone. We don't exactly know why Mr. Murdstone chose to marry Clara. And I know my opinions on this caused all kinds of controversy back in those chapters, so we won't resurrect all of that now. But suffice it to say that Mr. Murdstone is someone who saw a young, childish, silly, pretty girl, married her, and then proceeded to slowly kill her by trying to turn her into something she wasn't and could never be. Right. He married her because of what she was, and then he tried to force her to be something different, and it killed her. And yes, David is kinder and gentler and less firm than Mr. Murdstone, but when you get right down to it, he's trying to do the exact same thing. And it is this that Miss Betsy sees, and it's her intervention that stops David from repeating the past and becoming another Mr. Murdstone. But which is why I said a little bit ago that Miss Betsy is the fulcrum of this chapter, because she takes this whole situation in which we were totally on David's side, and she turns it on his head, and she redirects David from becoming a thing he hates, a thing we all hate, a man like Mr. Murdstone and turns him toward the man that he is meant to be. Right. Here is what Ms. Betsy. I want our pet to like me and be as gay as a butterfly. Remember your own home in that second marriage and never do both me and her. The injury you have hinted at. Okay. Don't become like Mr. Murdstone. Don't assert your will over Dora and force her to become something she wasn't meant to be. And later she spells it out even further. Here's what she says. You have chosen a very pretty and a very affectionate creature. It will be your duty and it will be your pleasure, too. Of course, I know that. I am not delivering a lecture to estimate her as you chose her by the qualities she has and not by the qualities she may not have. The latter you must develop in her if you can. And if you cannot, child, you must just accustom yourself to do without them. Right. She's saying you knew who Dora was when you married her. You love her for exactly those things. If you force her to try to be the angel in the house and she's not capable of it, you will drum all those lovely things out of her and make her miserable. And then you won't have an angel in the house. House. And you won't have your lovely, silly, childish wife. She's saying, you made your bed, now lie in it, essentially. Which doesn't mean you made a horrible mistake and you were so dumb and now you have to be miserable for the rest of your life because of it. She's not saying that at all. Miss Betsy loves Dora. She sees her good qualities, her sense of fun, her joy, her affectionate nature. She sees all of that, and she loves her. And she's saying to David that those are the things that make Dora wonderful. She's saying, love those things, treasure those things. And if she can't ever be the angel in the house, then learn to live in a disorganized house. Do it because you love Dora. And trying to change her will kill her, just like it killed Klara. And like you guys, I love that Miss Betsy does this. And what's so beautiful about it? To me, in addition to everything that we just discussed, what's so beautiful about it is that it actually accomplishes the thing that Miss Betsy was trying to accomplish in the very first chapter by showing up and declaring that she would be the godmother of the baby girl that was about to be born. Because, remember, she wanted to do it so that she could raise that girl not to make the same mistakes that she, Miss Betsy, made, right? Not to run off with some horrible man who would mistreat her and leave her. She was going to teach little Betsy to either never marry at all or to marry a man who would treat her kindly and respect her for who she is. Well, she didn't get to do that because David was a boy and not a girl. But she has actually done, in my opinion, something even better here. She has helped a man to grow into the sort of man who won't mistreat his wife, the sort of man who will love his wife for who she is, who will be kind to her and patient with her and appreciative of her. And so, in a way, through David, Miss Betsy has done what she set out to do all that time ago, which I think is really lovely. But what does this all mean for David? So, first of all, it means that the scales sort of fall from David's eyes and he's able to see Dora for who she truly is. And Dora helps with this. She asks him to think of her as a child, right? She wants him to call her child wife. Now, I know this sounds very cringey to us. I cringe when I read it, too, and it is a bit cringey. But I think for modern readers, there's a connotation of, like, pedophilia or something like that that just wouldn't have been there for contemporary readers. So I think we need to put that to the side. She's not asking him to be in love with a child or think of her as a child in any sort of weird way. She's essentially just saying that she isn't capable of being the angel in the house. She's not ever going to be able to master all this housekeeping stuff, all this practical stuff. She will be merry and loving and sweet and pretty, and those will be her strengths. But when David thinks of a quote unquote wife in the Victorian sense, like a matronly, housewifely sort of person, when he thinks of a person like that, he can't think of Dora, because Dora can only ever play at being that sort of person. She will never really be that. And that's what she means. She's playing at the angel in the house like a child might. So here's what she says. I don't mean, you silly fellow, that you should use the name instead of Dora. I only mean that you should think of me that way. When you are going to be angry with me, say to yourself, it's only my child wife when I am Very disappointing, say I knew a long time ago that she would make but a child wife when you miss what I should like to be and I think can never be, say still my foolish child wife loves me, for indeed I do. And it's here that adult David shows up again to tell us that this request of Dora's coupled with Ms. Betsy's advice to not try to turn Dora into something she's not. The adventure things stayed with him ever afterward and directed the course of his life. Here's what he this appeal of Dora's made a strong impression on me. I look back on the time I write of, I invoke the innocent figure that I dearly loved to come out from the mists and shadows of the past and turn its gentle head towards me once again. And I can still declare that this one little speech was constantly in my memory. I may not have used it to the best account. I was young and inexperienced, but I never turned a deaf ear to its artless pleading. Okay, so he's telling us that from that moment on, he stopped trying to change her. He turned away from the Murdstone path and he forged a new path for himself, right? The Copperfield path. He allowed her to be who she was and in doing so, he made her happy. Okay, but of course, that path has consequences. On the one hand, his wife is happy and he gets to enjoy all of the things about her that he loves. He's also content knowing that he's not being cruel to her and that he's giving her a good life. But, and this is no small thing, there's a loneliness to this. Right? Here's what he says. I did feel sometimes for a little while that I could have wished my wife had been my counselor, had had more character and purpose to sustain me and improve me by, and been endowed with power to fill up the void which somewhere seemed to be about me. But I felt as if this were an unearthly consummation of my happiness that never had been meant to be and never could have been, Right? So that deepening of love, that more sedate, more meaningful connection that we were talking about right at the beginning, that thing that you hope will happen once the courtship is done and the marriage has begun. It's not going to happen for David. He's realizing that choosing to let Dora be Dora means that he will never truly have like a help meet. Dora will never be his other half. She won't fill in the empty places in him or advise him or support him in times of trial. And that's the choice that he made in choosing Dora. But he's saying that maybe that's not actually something that anyone can really have on Earth. Maybe that's something that's only reserved for heaven. And maybe everyone feels that way when they get right down to the reality of marriage. And now we might be sitting here being like, no, David, it is real. It does exist. But that's how he's explaining it to himself, right? To comfort himself for the choice that he's made. He loves Dora. He loves what she is and who she is. And so to allow her to keep being the woman he loves, he will give up the dream of the angel in the house, the partner, the hoarder. And he will try to be happy with what he actually has, rather than with what he thinks he ought to have but can't. Here's what he. Thus it was that I took upon myself the toils and cares of our life and had no partner in them, which, of course, is unbearably sad. And, of course, our thoughts turn to Agnes, who would have been all of the things for David and more. She is exactly the person he describes when he says the thing I just said above. I could have wished my wife had been my counselor, had had more character and purpose to sustain me and improve me by. Had been endowed with power to fill up the void which somewhere seemed to be about me. I mean, he's describing Agnes, right? The way that Agnes always makes him feel when he's with her. That's what he's describing. But he doesn't see that. And he does love Dora. He doesn't want to get rid of her. He just thought he could make her into what he wanted her to be. But that's what Mr. Murdstone thought, too. So it's melancholy, it's. It's sad, it's poignant, but to me, it's the right thing to do. And it's Miss Betsy and Dora herself who helped him get there. So here he is, right? He's married. It's not everything he hoped it would be, but it's good as well. I mean, he loves his wife. He's becoming more and more successful. He's got good and loving friends around him. There's just a sort of piece missing, right? Like a deeper connection that he can't have. But everything else is going great, so I'm gonna stop there. I have talked for a very long time, and we need to get to the next chapter. But there was so much to say and you guys had so much to say. So I wanted to make sure I addressed all that. But I do want to just quickly mention that if you want to keep thinking about this chapter, chapter 44, and have another perspective or listen to somebody else talk about it, I have linked in the show notes to an episode of a podcast called Wisdom in the Best Books and Films. It's with Jake Baer. It's a show that I've been interviewed on before and I had a lovely time doing it. He's got an episode up now now that is specifically about Chapter 44 of David Copperfield. He mentions this podcast and the episode's a really nice companion to this one, I think. So I've linked to that if you're interested and I recommend it. So hopefully you can check that out. But now let us get back to the book and see what happens next. Of course. Don't forget to write to me. I love your letters. It's faith k.moore.com and then you click on Contact. Or you can scroll into the show notes and find all the things that we've talked about this episode and the Contact link. So please do get in touch. All right, let's get started with chapter 45 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 45. Mr. Dick fulfills my aunt's predictions. It was some time now since I had left the doctor living in his neighborhood. I saw him frequently and we all went to his house on two or three occasions to dinner or tea. The old soldier was in permanent quarters under the doctor's roof. She was exactly the same as ever, and the same immortal butterflies hovered over her cap. Like some other mothers whom I have known in the course of my life, Mrs. Markleham was far more fond of pleasure than her daughter was. She required a great deal of amusement and like a deep old soldier, pretended in consulting her own inclinations to be devoting herself to her child. The doctor's desire that Annie should be entertained was therefore particularly acceptable to this excellent parent who expressed unqualified approval of his discretion. I have no doubt indeed that she probed the doctor's wound without knowing it, meaning nothing but a certain matured frivolity and selfishness not always inseparable from full blown years. I think she confirmed him in his his fear that he was a constraint upon his young wife and that there was no congeniality of feeling between them by so strongly commending his design of lightening the load of her life. So the fact that Annie's mother keeps requesting that they have some sort of entertainment. Makes Dr. Strong feel even worse about marrying her and making her life dull and robbing her of love. My dear soul, she said to him one day when I was present, you know, there is no doubt it would be a little poky for Annie to be always shut up here. The doctor nodded his benevolent head. When she comes to her mother's age, said Mrs. Markleham with a flourish of her fan, then it'll be another thing. You might put me into a jail with genteel society and a rubber, and I should never care to come out. But I am not Annie, you know, and Annie is not her mother. Surely, surely, said the doctor, you are the best of creatures. No, I beg your pardon, for the doctor made a gesture of deprecation. I must say, before your face, as I always say behind your back, you are the best of creatures. But of course you don't. Now, don't you enter into the same pursuits and fancies as Annie? No, said the doctor in a sorrowful tone. No, of course not, retorted the old soldier. Take your dictionary, for example. What a useful work a dictionary is. What a necessary work. The meanings of words. Without Dr. Johnson or somebody of that sort, we might have been at this present moment calling an Italian iron a bedstead. But we can't expect a dictionary, especially when it's making to interest Annie, can we? The doctor shook his head. And that's why I so much approve, said Mrs. Markleham, tapping him on the shoulder with her Shut up, fan. Of your thoughtfulness. It shows that you don't expect, as many elderly people do expect, old heads on young shoulders. You have studied Annie's character and you understand. Understand it. That's what I find so charming. Even the calm and patient face of Dr. Strong expressed some little sense of pain, I thought, under the infliction of these compliments. Therefore, my dear doctor, said the old soldier, giving him several affectionate taps, you may command me at all times and seasons. Now do understand that I am entirely at your service. I am ready to go with Annie to opera, operas, concerts, exhibitions, all kinds of places, and you shall never find that I am tired. Duty, my dear doctor, before every consideration in the universe. She was as good as her word. She was one of those people who can bear a great deal of pleasure, and she never flinched in her perseverance in the cause. She seldom got hold of the newspaper, which she settled herself down in the softest chair in the house to read through an eye glass every day for Two hours. Hours. But she found out something that she was certain Annie would like to see. It was in vain for Annie to protest that she was weary of such things. Her mother's remonstrance always was. Now, my dear Annie, I am sure you know better. And I must tell you, my love, that you are not making a proper return for the kindness of Dr. Strong. This was usually said in the doctor's presence and appeared to me to constitute Annie's principal inducement for withdrawing her objections when she made it Jenny. But in general, she resigned herself to her mother and went where the old soldier would. It rarely happened now that Mr. Malden accompanied them. Sometimes my aunt and Dora were invited to do so and accepted the invitation. Sometimes Dora only was asked. The time had been when I should have been uneasy in her going. But reflection on what had passed that former night in the doctor's study had made a change in my mistrust. I believed that the doctor was right, and I had no worse suspicions. My aunt rubbed her nose sometimes when she happened to be alone with me and said she couldn't make it out. She wished they were happier. She didn't think our military friend, so she always called the old soldier, mended the matter at all. My aunt further expressed her opinion that if our military friend would cut off those butterflies and give him to the chimney sweepers for May Day, it would look like the beginning the. Of. Of something sensible on her part. But her abiding reliance was on Mr. Dick. That man had evidently an idea in his head, she said, and if he could only once pen it up into a corner, which was his great difficulty, he would distinguish himself in some extraordinary manner. Unconscious of this prediction, Mr. Dick continued to occupy precisely the same ground in reference to Dr. And to Mrs. Strong. He seemed neither to advance nor to recede. He appeared to have settled into his original foundation like a building. And I must confess that my faith in his ever moving was not much greater than if he had been a building. But one night, when I had been married some months, Mr. Dick put his head into the parlour where I was writing alone, Dora having gone out with my aunt to take tea with the two little birds and said with a significant you. You couldn't speak to me without inconveniencing yourself. Trotwood, I am afraid. Certainly, Mr. Dick said. I come in, Trotwood, said Mr. Dick, laying his finger on the side of his nose after he had shaken hands with me. Before I sit down, I wish to make an observation. You know your aunt a little I replied, she is the most wonderful woman in the world, sir. After the delivery of this communication, which he shot out of himself as if he were loaded with it, Mr. Dick sat down with greater gravity than usual and looked at me. Now, boy, said Mr. Dick, I am going to put a question to you as many as you please, said I. What do you consider me, sir? Asked Mr. Dick, folding his arms. A dear old friend, said I. Thank you, Trotwood, returned Mr. Dick, laughing and reaching across in high glee to shake hands with me. But I mean, boy, resuming his gravity. What do you consider me in this respect? Touching his forehead, I was puzzled how to answer, but he helped me with a word. Weak, said Mr. Dick. Well, I replied dubiously. Rather so. Exactly. Cried Mr. Dick, who seemed quite enchanted by my reply. That is, Trotwood. When they took some of the trouble out of you know whose head and put it, you know where there was a Mr. Dick made his two hands revolve very fast about each other a great number of times, and then brought them into collision and rolled them over and over one another to express confusion. There was that sort of thing done to me somehow, eh? I nodded at him, and he nodded back again. In short, boy, said Mr. Dick, dropping his voice to a whisper, I am simple. I would have qualified that conclusion, but he stopped me. Yes, I am. She pretends I am not. She won't hear of it. But I am. I know I am. If she hadn't stood my friend, sir, I should have been shut up to lead a dismal life these many years. But I'll provide for her. I never spend the copying money. I put it in a box. I have made a will. I'll leave it all to her. She shall be rich, noble. Mr. Dick took out his pocket handkerchief and wiped his eyes. He then folded it up with great care, pressed it smooth between his two hands and put it in his pocket, and seemed to put my aunt away with it. Now you are a scholar, trotwood, said Mr. Dick. You are a fine scholar. You know what a learned man, what a great man the doctor is. You know what honour he has always done me. Not proud in his wisdom, humble, humble, condescending even to poor Dick, who is simple and knows nothing. I have sent his name up on a scrap of paper to the kite along the string when it has been in the sky among the larks. The kite has been glad to receive it, sir, and the sky has been brighter with it. I delighted him by saying most heartily that the doctor was deserving of our Best respect and highest esteem. And his beautiful wife is a star, said Mr. Dick. A shining star. I have seen her shine, sir. But bringing his chair nearer and laying one hand upon my knee. Clouds, sir, clouds, I answered. The solicitude which his face expressed by conveying the same expression into my own and shaking my head. What clouds? Said Mr. Dick. He looked so wistfully into my face and was so anxious to understand that I took great pains to answer him slowly and distinctly, as I might have entered on an explanation to a child. There is some unfortunate division between them, I replied. Some unhappy cause of separation. A secret it may be, inseparable from the discrepancy in their years. It may have grown up out of almost nothing. Mr. Dick, who had told off every sentence with a thoughtful nod, paused when I had done and sat considering with his eyes upon my face and his hand upon my knee. Doctor. Not angry with her, Trotwood, he said after some time. No. Devoted to her, then I have got it, boy, said Mr. Dick. The sudden exultation with which he slapped me on the knee and leaned back in his chair with his eyebrows lifted up as high as he could possibly lift them, made me think him farther out of his wits than ever. He became as suddenly grave again and leaning forward as before, said first respectfully, taking out his pocket handkerchief, as if it really did represent my aunt. Most wonderful woman in the world, Trotwood. Why has she done nothing to set things right? Too delicate and difficult a subject for such interference, I replied. Fine scholar, said Mr. Dick, touching me with his finger. Why has he done nothing? Meaning why hasn't David done anything? For the same reason I returned. Then I have got it, boy, said Mr. Dick. And he stood up before me more exultingly than before, nodding his head and striking himself repeatedly upon breast, until one might have supposed that he had nearly nodded and struck all the breath out of his body. A poor fellow with a craze, sir, said Mr. Dick. A simpleton, a weak minded person. Present company, you know, striking himself again may do what wonderful people may not do. I'll bring them together, boy. I'll try. They'll not blame me. They'll not object to me. They'll not mind what I do. If it's wrong. I'm only Mr. Dick. And who minds Dick? Dick's nobody. Whew. He blew a slight contemptuous breath as if he blew himself away. It was fortunate he had proceeded so far with his mystery, for we heard the coach stop at the little garden gate which brought my aunt and Dora Home. Not a word, boy, he pursued in a whisper. Leave all the blame with Dick. Simple Dick. Mad Dick. I have been thinking, sir, for some time that I was getting it, and now I have got it. After what you have said to me, I am sure I have got it all right. Not Another word did Mr. Dick utter on the subject, but he made a very telegraph of himself for the next half hour to the great disturbance of my aunt's mind to enjoin inviolable secrecy on me, meaning he keeps making motions to David that he should keep the secret. To my surprise, I heard no more about it for two or three weeks, though I was sufficiently interested in the result of his endeavours, decrying a strange gleam of good sense, I say nothing of good feeling, for that he always exhibited in the conclusion to which he had come. At last I began to believe that in the flighty and unsettled state of his mind he had either forgotten his attention or abandoned it. One fair evening, when Dora was not inclined to go out, my aunt and I strolled up to the doctor's cottage. It was autumn, when there were no debates to vex the evening air, and I remember how the leaves smelt like our garden at Blunderstone as we trod them under foot, and how the old unhappy feelings seemed to go by on the sighing wind. It was twilight when we reached the cottage. Mrs. Strong was just coming out of the garden, where Mr. Dick yet lingered, busy with his knife, helping the gardener to point some stakes. The doctor was engaged with some one in his study, but the visitor would be gone directly, Mrs. Strong said, and begged us to remain and see him. We went into the drawing room with her and sat down by the darkening window. There was never any ceremony about the visits of such old friends and neighbours as we were. We had not sat here many minutes when Mrs. Markleham, who usually contrived to be in a fuss about something, came bustling in with her newspaper in her hand and said out of breath, my goodness gracious, Annie, why didn't you tell me there was somebody in the study? My dear mamma, she quietly returned. How could I know that you desired the information? Desired the information? Said Mrs. Markleham, sinking on the sofa. I never had such a turn in all my life. Have you been in the study, then? Mamma asked Annie. Been to the study, my dear, she returned emphatically. Indeed I have. I have come upon the amiable creatureif you'll imagine my feelings. Miss Trotwood and David in the act of making his will, her daughter Looked round from the window quickly. In the act. My dear Annie, repeated Mrs. Markleham, spreading the newspaper on her lap like a tablecloth and patting her hands upon it, of making his last will and testament. The foresight and affection of the dear. I must tell you how it was, I really must, in justice to the darling, for he is nothing less tell you how it was. Perhaps you know, Ms. Trotwood, that there is never a candle lighted in this house until one's eyes are literally falling out of one's head with being stretched to read the paper. Paper. And there is not a chair in this house in which a paper can be what I call read, except one in the study. This took me to the study where I saw a light. I opened the door. In company with the dear doctor were two professional people evidently concerned with the law, and they were all three standing at the table, the darling doctor, pen in hand. This simply expresses. Then, said the doctor. Annie, my love, attend to the very words. This simply expresses. Then, gentlemen, the confidence I have in Mrs. Strong. And gives her all unconditionally. One of the professional people replied, and gives her all unconditionally. Upon that, with the natural feelings of a mother, I said, good God, I beg your pardon, fell over the doorstep and came away through the little back passage where the pantry is. Mrs. Strong opened the window and went out into the veranda where she stood leaning against a pillow. But now, isn't it, Ms. Trotwood, isn't it, David? Invigorating, said Mrs. Markleham, mechanically, following her with her eyes, to find a man at Dr. Strong's time of life with the strength of mind to do this kind of thing. It only shows how right I was, I said to Annie, when Dr. Strong paid a very flattering visit to myself and made her the subject of a declaration and an offer. I said, my dear, there is no doubt whatever, in my opinion, with reference to a suitable provision for you, that Dr. Strong will do more than he binds to himself to here. The bell rang and we heard the sound of the visitors feet as they went out. It's all over. No doubt, said the old soldier after listening. The dear creature has signed, sealed and delivered, and his mind's at rest. Well, it may be. What a mind. Any, my love, I am going to the study with my paper, for I am a poor creature without news. Ms. Trotwood. David, pray come and see the doctor. I was conscious of Mr. Dick standing in the shadow of the room, room shutting up his knife when we accompanied her to the study. And of My aunt's rubbing her nose violently, by the way, as a mild vent for her intolerance of our military friend. But who got first into the study? Or how Mrs. Markleham settled herself in a moment in an easy chair. Or how my aunt and I came to be left together near the door, unless her eyes were quicker than mine, and she held me back. I have forgotten if I ever knew. But this I know, that we saw the doctor before he saw us, thus sitting at his table among the folio volumes in which he delighted, resting his head calmly on his hand. That in the same moment we saw Mrs. Strong glide in, pale and trembling. That Mr. Dick supported her on his arm. That he laid his other hand upon the doctor's arm, causing him to look up with an abstracted air that as the doctor moved his head, his wife dropped down on one knee at his feet. Feet, and with her hands imploringly lifted, fixed upon his face the memorable look. I had never forgotten that at this sight Mrs. Markleham dropped the newspaper and stared more like a figurehead intended for a ship to be called the astonishment than anything else. I can think of the gentleness of the doctor's manner and surprize the dignity that mingled with the supplicating attitude of his wife, the amiable concern of Mr. Dick, and the earnestness with which my aunt said to herself, that man mad, triumphantly expressive of the misery from which she had saved him. I see and hear rather than remember as I write about it. Doctor, said Mr. Dick. What is it that's amiss? Look here, Annie. Cried the doctor. Not at my feet, my dear. Yes, she said. I beg and pray that no one will leave the room. Oh, my husband and father. Break this long silence. Let us both know what it is that has come between us. Mrs. Markleham by this time recovering the power of speech and seeming to swell with family pride and motherly indignation. Here. Exclaimed Annie. Get up immediately. And don't disgrace everybody belonging to you by humbling yourself like that, unless you wish to see me go out of my mind on the the spot. Mamma, returned Annie. Waste no words on me, for my appeal is to my husband and even you are nothing here. Nothing. Exclaimed Mrs. Markleham. Me? Nothing? The child has taken leave of her senses. Please to get me a glass of water. I was too attentive to the doctor and his wife to give any heed to this request, and it made no impression on anybody else. So Mrs. Markleham panted, stared, and fanned herself. Annie, said the doctor tenderly Taking her in his hands. My dear, if any unavoidable change has come in the consequence of time upon our married life, you are not to blame. The fault is mine and only mine. There is no change in my affection, admiration and respect. I wish to make you happy. I truly love and honour you. You rise, Annie, pray. But she did not rise. After looking at him for a little while, she sank down closer to him, laid her arm across his knee and, dropping her head upon it, said, if I have any friend here who can speak one word for me or for my husband in this matter, if I have any friend here who can give a voice to any suspicion that my heart has sometimes wished, whispered to me, if I have any friend here who honors my husband or has ever cared for me and has anything within his knowledge, no matter what it is, that may help to mediate between us, I implore that friend to speak. There was a profound silence. After a few moments of painful hesitation, I broke the silence. Mrs. Strong, I said, there is something within my knowledge which I have been earnestly entreated by Dr. Strong to concealand have concealed until to night. But I believe the time has come when it would be mistaken faith and delicacy to conceal it any longer and when your appeal absolves me from his injunction. She turned her face towards me for a moment and I knew that I was right. I could not have resisted its entreaty if the assurance that it gave me me had been less convincing. Our future peace, she said, may be in your hands. I trust it confidently to your not suppressing anything. I know beforehand that nothing you or anyone can tell me will show my husband's noble heart in any other light than one. Howsoever it may seem to you to touch me, disregard that I will speak for myself before him and before God afterwards. Thus earnestly besought, I made no reference to the doctor for his permission, but without any other compromise of the truth than a little softening of the coarseness of Uriah Heep, related plainly what had passed in that same room that night. Meaning, he told Annie how uriah revealed to Dr. Strong what people suspected about her and Jack Malden. The staring of Mrs. Markleham during the whole narration and the shrill sharp interjections with which she occasionally interrupted and it defy description. When I had finished, Annie remained for some few moments silent with her head bent down as I have described. Then she took the doctor's hand. He was sitting in the same attitude as when we had entered the room and pressed it to her breast and kissed it. Mr. Dick softly raised her, and she stood when she began to speak, leaning on him and looking down upon her husband, from whom she never turned her eyes. Eyes. All that has ever been in my mind since I was married, she said in a low, submissive, tender voice, I will lay bare before you. I could not live and have one reservation, knowing what I know now. Nay, Annie, said the doctor mildly. I have never doubted you, my child. There is no need. Indeed, there is no need, my dear. There is great need, she answered in the same way that I should open my whole heart before the soul of generosity and truth, whom year by year and day by day I have loved and venerated more and more, as heaven knows. Really? Interrupted Mrs. Markleham, if I have any discretion at all. Which you haven't, you Marplot, observed my aunt in an indignant whisper. However, I must be permitted to observe that it cannot be requisite to enter into these details. No one but my husband can judge of that, Mama, said Annie, without removing her eyes from his face. And he will hear me if I say anything to give you pain. Mama, forgive me. I have borne pain first, often and long myself. Upon my word, gasped Mrs. Markleham. When I was very young, said Annie, quite a little child, my first associations with knowledge of any kind were inseparable from a patient friend and teacher, the friend of my dead father, who was always dear to me. I can remember nothing that I know without remembering him. He stored my mind with its first treasures and stamped his character upon them all. They never could have been, I think, at as good as they have been to me if I had taken them from any other hands. So the teacher that she's talking about here is Dr. Strong, makes her mother nothing, exclaimed Mrs. Markleham. Not so, mamma, said Annie. But I make him what he was. I must do that. As I grew up, he occupied the same place. Still, I was proud of his interest, deeply, fondly, gratefully attached to him. I looked up to him. I can hardly describe how, as a father, as a guide, as one whose praise was different from all other praise, as one in whom I could have trusted and confided if I had doubted all the world. You know, Mama, how young and inexperienced I was when you presented him before me of a sudden, as a lover. I have mentioned the fact 50 times at least to everybody here, said Mrs. Markleham. Then hold your tongue, for the Lord's sake, and don't mention it any more, muttered my aunt. It was so great a change, so great a Loss. I felt it at first, said Annie, still preserving the same tone and look, that I was agitated and distressed. I was but a girl, and when so great a change came in the character in which I had so long looked up to him, I think I was sorry. But nothing could have made him what he used to be again, and I was proud that he should think me so worthy. And we were married at St. Elphinch, Canterbury, observed Mrs. Markleham. Confound the woman, said my aunt. She won't be quiet. I never thought, proceeded Annie with a heightened color, of any worldly gain that my husband would bring me. My young heart had no room in its homage for any such poor reference. Mamma, forgive me when I say that it was you who first presented to my mind the thought that any one could wrong me and wrong him by such a cruel suspicion. Me? Cried Mrs. Markleham. Ah, you, to be sure, observed my aunt, and you can't fan it away, my military friend. It was the first unhappiness of my new life, said Annie. It was the first occasion of every unhappy moment I have known. These moments have been more of late than I can count. But not my generous husband, not for the reason you suppose. For in my heart there is not a thought, a recollection, or a hope that any power could separate from you. She raised her eyes and clasped her hands and looked as beautiful and true, I thought, as any spirit. The doctor looked on her hence forth as steadfastly as she on him. Mamma is blameless, she went on, of having ever urged you for herself. And she is blameless in intention every way, I am sure. But when I saw how many importunate claims were pressed upon you in my name, how you were traded on in my name, how generous you were, and how Mr. Wickfield, who had your welfare very much at heart, heart resented it. The first sense of my exposure to the mean suspicion that my tenderness was brought and sold to you of all men on earth fell upon me like unmerited disgrace, in which I forced you to participate. I cannot tell you what it was. Mama cannot imagine what it was to have this dread and trouble always on my mind. Yet know in my soul that on my marriage day I crowned the love and honour of my life, a specimen of the thanks one gets, cried Mrs. Markleham, in tears for taking care of one's family. I wish I was a Turk. I wish you were, with all my heart and in your native country, said my aunt. It was at that time that mamma was most solicitous about my cousin Malden. I had liked him. She spoke softly, but without any hesitation, very much. We had been little lovers once. If circumstances had not happened otherwise, I might have come to persuade myself that I really loved him. And might have married him and been most wretched. There can be no disparity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose. I pondered on those words even while I was studiously attending to what followed. As if they had some particular interest. Interest or some strange application that I could not divine. There can be no disparity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose. No disparity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose. There is nothing, said Annie, that we have in common. I have long found that there is nothing. If I were thankful to my husband for no more, instead of for so much, I should be thankful to him for having saved me from the first mistaken impulse of my undisciplined heart. She stood quite still before the doctor and spoke with an earnestness that thrilled me. Yet her voice was just as quiet as before. When he was waiting to be the object of your munificence. So freely bestowed for my sake. And when I was unhappy in the mercenary shape I was made to wear. I thought it would have become him. Him better to have worked his own way on. I thought that if I had been he, I would have tried to do it at the cost of almost any hardship. But I thought no worse of him. Until the night of his departure for India. That night I knew he had a false and thankless heart. I saw a double meaning then in Mr. Wickfield's scrutiny of me. I perceived for the first time the dark suspicion that shadowed my life. Suspicion, Annie, said the doctor. No, no, no. In your mind there was none. I know my husband, she returned. And when I came to you that night to lay down all my load of shame and grief. And knew that I had to tell that underneath your roof. One of my own kindred. To whom you had been a benefactor for the love of me, had spoken to me words that should have found no utterance. Even if I had been the weakened mercenary wretch he thought me. My mind revolted from the taint the very tale conveyed. It died upon my lips. And from that hour till now has never passed them. Meaning that Jack Mulden revealed his feelings for Annie on the night of his going away to India. And Annie wanted to tell the doctor about this. But was too embarrassed that he it had happened. And too upset at the mercenary nature of Jack and Mrs. Markleham's behavior that she couldn't do it. Mrs. Markleham, with a short groan, leaned back in her easy chair and retired behind her fan, as if she were never coming out any more. I have never but in your presence, interchanged a word with him from that time, then only when it has been necessary for the avoidance of this explanation. Years have passed since he knew from me what his situation here wasmeaning. It's been years since she told him clearly that she doesn't love him. The kindnesses you have secretly done for his advancement and then disclosed to me for my surprise and pleasure have been, you will believe, but aggravations of the unhappiness and burden of my secret. She sunk down gently at the doctor's feet, though he did his utmost to prevent her, and said, looking up tearfully into his face, do not speak to me yet. Let me say a little more. Right or wrong, if this were to be done again, I think I should do just the same. You never can know what it was to be devoted to you with those old associations, to find that any one could be so hard as to suppose that the truth of my heart was bartered away, and to be surrounded by appearances confirming that belief. I was very young and had no adviser between mamma and me in all relating to you there was a wide division. If I shrunk into myself hiding the disrespect I had undergone, it was because I honoured you so much and so much wished that you should honour me. Annie, my pure heart, said the doctor. My dear girl, a little more, a few words more. I used to think there were so many whom you might have married who would not have brought such a charge and trouble on you, and who would have made your home a worthier home. I used to be afraid that I had better have remained your pupil and almost your child. I used to fear that I was so unsuited to your learning and wisdom. If all this made me shrink within myself, as indeed it did, when I had that to tell, it was still because I honoured you so much and hoped that you might one day honour me. That day has shown this long time, Annie, said the doctor, and can have but one long night, my dear, meaning his love for her will only die when he dies. Another word. I afterwards meant, steadfastly meant, and purposed to myself to bear the whole weight of knowing the unworthiness of one to whom you had been so good. And now a last word. Dearest and best of friends, the cause of the Late change in you, which I have seen with so much pain and sorrow, and have sometimes referred to my old apprehension, at other times to lingering suppositions nearer to the truth has been made clear to night, and by an accident I have also come to know to night the full measure of your noble trust in me. Even under that mistake, I do not hope that any love and duty I may render in return will ever make me worthy of your priceless confidence. But with all this knowledge fresh upon me, I can lift my eyes to this dear face, revered as a father, loved as a husband's, sacred to me in my childhood as a friend. Friends, and solemnly declare that in my lightest thought I have never wronged you, never wavered in the love and the fidelity I owe you. She had her arms around the doctor's neck, and he leant his head down over her, mingling his gray hair with her dark brown tresses. Oh, hold me to your heart, my husband. Never cast me out. Do not think or see speak of disparity between us, for there is none, except in all my many imperfections. Every succeeding year I have known this better, as I have esteemed you more and more. Oh, take me to your heart, my husband. For my love was founded on a rock, and it endures. In the silence that ensued, my aunt walked gravely up to Mr. Dick, without at all hurrying herself. Herself. And gave him a hug and a sounding kiss. And it was very fortunate, with a view to his credit, that she did so. For I am confident that I detected him at that moment in the act of making preparations to stand on one leg as an appropriate expression of delight. You are a very remarkable man, Dick, said my aunt with an air of unqualified approbation. And never pretend to be anything else, for I know better. With that my aunt pulled him by the sleeve and nodded to me, and we three stole quietly out of the room and came away. That's a settler for our military friend, at any rate, said my aunt on the way home. I should sleep the better for that, if there was nothing else to be glad of. She was quite overcome, I am afraid, said Mr. Dick with great commiseration. What? Did you ever see a crocodile? Overcome? Inquired my aunt. I don't think I ever saw a crocodile, returned Mr. Dick mildly. There never would have been anything the matter if it hadn't been for that old animal, said my aunt with strong emphasis. It's very much to be wished that some mothers would leave their daughters alone after marriage and not be so violently affectionate. They seem to think the only return that can be made them for bringing an un unfortunate young woman into the world. God bless my soul. If she asked to be brought or wanted to come is full liberty to worry her out of it again. What are you thinking of? Trot? I was thinking of all that had been said. My mind was still running on some of the expressions used. There can be no disparity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose, the first mistaken impulse impulse of an undisciplined heart. My love was founded on a rock, but we were at home and the trodden leaves were lying underfoot and the autumn wind was blowing. Thank you so much for listening. I'd love to know what you thought of the chapters. Is there anything you'd like me to clarify? Did something particularly interest you? You please go to my website, faithkmore.com click on contact and send me your questions and thoughts. Or you can click on the link in the Show Notes to contact me. I'll feature one or two of your entries at the start of the next episode. Speaking of links, don't forget to take a look at the other links in the Show Notes. You can learn more about me, check out our Merch store, or become a member of the Storytime for Grown Ups online community. Before I go, so I'd like to ask a quick favor. This is an independent podcast. 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