There was something strangely pathetic and tender in her moving, unconscious finger-tips, that were agitated and hurt, really.
'I DO enjoy things--don't you ?' she asked.
'Oh yes! But it infuriates me that I can't get right, at the really growing part of me.

I feel all tangled and messed up, and I CAN'T get straight anyhow.

I don't know what really to DO.

One must do something somewhere.' 'Why should you always be DOING ?' she retorted.

'It is so plebeian.