Her sensitiveness, too, was racked by the presentation of so pitiably ugly a figure to the landscape.
She likened it to a coarse-featured country wench, whose cleaning and decorating of her countenance makes complexion grin and ruggedness yawn.
Dirty, dilapidated, hung with weeds and parasites, it would have been more tolerable.

She tried the effect of various creepers, and they were as a staring paint.

What it was like then, she had no heart to say.
One may, however, fall on a pleasurable resignation in accepting great indemnities, as Diana bade her believe, when the first disgust began to ebb.

'A good hundred over there would think it a Paradise for an asylum': she signified London.

Her friend bore such reminders meekly.
They were readers of books of all sorts, political, philosophical, economical, romantic; and they mixed the diverse readings in thought, after the fashion of the ardently youthful.