Here a procession, there a theatre; but here! And for whom should I dress even?
My jewels grow dull in my chest, and the moths eat my best clothes.

I am making doll's clothes now of my colored cloak for your little ones.

If some demon were to transform me into a hedge-hog or a grey owl, it would be all the same to me." "Do not be so sinful," said Dorothea gravely, but looking with kindly admiration at the golden hair and lovely sweet face of the young woman.
"It ought to be a pleasure to you to dress yourself for your husband." "For him ?" said Sirona.

"He never looks at me, or if he does it is only to abuse me.

The only wonder to me is that I can still be merry at all; nor am I, except in your house, and not there even but when I forget him altogether." "I will not hear such things said--not another word," interrupted Dorothea severely.