"I do thank you.

If Brennus has a daughter, why not let her be half Roman ?" Tracy fired out: "she's a bony woman, with a brawny development; mammoth haunches, strong of the skeleton; cheek-bones, flat-forward, as a fish 's rotting on a beach; long scissor lips-nippers to any wretched rose of a kiss! a pugilist's nose to the nostrils of a phoca; and eyes!--don't you see them ?--luminaries of pestilence; blotted yellow, like a tallow candle shining through a horny lantern." At this horrible forced-poetic portrait, Emilia cried in pain: "You hate her suddenly!" "I loathe the creature--pah!" went Tracy.
"Why do you make her so hideous ?" Emilia complained.

"I feel myself hating her too.

Look at me.

Am I such a thing as that ?" "You!" Tracy was melted in a trice, and gave the motion of hugging, as a commentary on his private opinion.
"Can you also be sure that Camillus can love nothing but his country?
Would one love stop the other ?" she persisted, gazing with an air of steady anxiety for the answer.
"There isn't a doubt about it," said Tracy.
Emilia caught her face in her hands, and exclaimed in a stifling voice: "It's true! it's true!" Tracy saw that her figure was shaken with sobs--unmistakeable, hard, sorrowful convulsions.
"Confound historical facts that make her cry!" he murmured to himself, in a fury at the Roman fables.