The Social Mould Civilization Fits Us Into

He's Charmed By Her As If She Were Some Fairy!" Continued Arabella. "see How He Looks Round At Her, And Lets His Eyes Rest On Her. I Am Inclined To Think That She Don't Care For Him Quite So Much As He Does For Her. She's Not A Particular Warm-hearted Creature To My Thinking, Though She Cares For Him Pretty Middling Much-- As Much As She's Able To; And He Could Make Her Heart Ache A Bit If He Liked To Try--which He's Too Simple To Do.

The Social Mould Civilization Fits Us Into Have No More Relation To Our Actual Shapes Than The Conventional Shapes Of The Constellations Have To The Real Star-patterns. I Am Called Mrs. Richard Phillotson, Living A Calm Wedded Life With My Counterpart Of That Name. But I Am Not Really Mrs. Richard Phillotson, But A Woman Tossed About, All Alone, With Aberrant Passions, And Unaccountable Antipathies.

She Was But A Transient Impression, Half Forgotten.

Done Because We Are Too Many.

A Novel Is An Impression, Not An Argument; And There The Matter Must Rest.