The journeys they made were for him.

In short, Lydia was borne away, like Florent, in the orbit of the most despotic force in the world--that of a celebrated talent.

An entire book would be required to paint in their daily truth the continued humiliations which brought the young wife to detest that talent and that celebrity with as much ardor as Florent worshipped them.

She remained, however, an honest woman, in the sense in which the word is construed by the world, which sums up woman's entire dishonor in errors of love.
But within Lydia's breast grew a rooted aversion toward Lincoln.

She detested him for the pure blood which made of that large, fair, and robust man so admirable a type of Anglo-Saxon beauty, by the side of her, so thin, so insignificant indeed, in spite of the grace of her pretty, dark face.