. . . It Seemed To Me

I Never Did Write A Biography, And I Don't Exactly Know How To Set About It; You See I Have To Be Accurate And Keep To The Facts, A Most Difficult Thing For A Writer Of Fiction.

She Had A Fierce Pleasure In The Idea Of Telling Margaret Unwelcome Truths, In The Shape Of Performance Of Duty.

It Is The First Changes Among Familiar Things That Make Such A Mystery Of Time To The Young; Afterwards We Lose The Sense Of The Mysterious. I Take Changes In All I See As A Matter Of Course. The Instability Of All Human Things Is Familiar To Me, To You It Is New And Oppressive." (mr. Bell)

If Mr. Thornton Was A Fool In The Morning, As He Assured Himself At Least Twenty Times He Was, He Did Not Grow Much Wiser In That Afternoon. All That He Gained In Return For His Sixpenny Omnibus Ride, Was A More Vivid Conviction That There Never Was, Never Could Be, Any One Like Margaret; That She Did Not Love Him And Never Would; But That She — No! Nor The Whole World — Should Never Hinder Him From Loving Her.

Wearily She Went To Bed, Wearily She Arose In Four Or Five Hours' Time. But With The Morning Came Hope, And A Brighter View Of Things.