Bernard Shaw | Getting Married By George

As they stepped back out onto the street, the London fog swirling around them, Charlotte took his arm.

"I am merely contemplating the absurdity of the contract," Shaw retorted, his red beard bristling. "To promise to love, honor, and obey is a biological impossibility and a legal farce. One might as well promise to keep one’s hair the same color for fifty years." "And yet, here you are," she said. Getting Married by George Bernard Shaw

They entered the small, drab room where the Registrar waited. The official looked up, unimpressed by the tall, gangly Irishman. To the Registrar, Shaw was not the greatest playwright of the age; he was simply a man who hadn't brushed his coat. As they stepped back out onto the street,

Charlotte laughed, pulling him toward the carriage. "Only five thousand, George? You’re getting soft in your old age." One might as well promise to keep one’s