Truth Has Rough Flavours If

Miss Brooke Had That Kind Of Beauty Which Seems To Be Thrown Into Relief By Poor Dress.

The Dew-bead Gem Of Earth And Sky Begotten.

No Soul Is Desolate As Long As There Is A Human Being For Whom It Can Feel Trust And Reverence.

There's Folks 'ud Stand On Their Heads And Then Say The Fault Was I' Their Boots.

There Is A Sort Of Jealousy Which Needs Very Little Fire; It Is Hardly A Passion, But A Blight Bred In The Cloudy, Damp Despondency Of Uneasy Egoism.