You Expect Me To Account For Opinions

You Have Delighted Us Long Enough.

There Is Not The Hundredth Part Of The Wine Consumed In This Kingdom That There Ought To Be. Our Foggy Climate Wants Help.

There Could Have Never Been Two Hearts So Open, No Tastes So Similar, No Feelings So In Unison, No Countenances So Beloved. Now They Were As Strangers; Nay, Worse Than Strangers, For They Could Never Become Acquainted. It Was A Perpetual Estrangement.

It Was, Perhaps, One Of Those Cases In Which Advice Is Good Or Bad Only As The Event Decides.

I Should Not Mind Anything At All.