She was like wood.

She hates crying.

She loves me so." The sympathetic tears rolled down Dahlia's cheeks.
"So, you quite refuse to see your father ?" he asked.
"Not yet!" "Not yet," he repeated.
At the touch of scorn in his voice, she exclaimed: "Oh, Edward! not yet, I cannot.

I know I am weak.

I can't meet him now.
If my Rhoda had come alone, as I hoped--! but he is with her.