He gives himself no airs, and one can say what one likes to him, though he's frightening because ..." But Mr.Letts allows little space in his shilling diaries.

Clara was not the one to encroach upon Wednesday.

Humblest, most candid of women! "No, no, no," she sighed, standing at the greenhouse door, "don't break--don't spoil"-- what?
Something infinitely wonderful.
But then, this is only a young woman's language, one, too, who loves, or refrains from loving.

She wished the moment to continue for ever precisely as it was that July morning.

And moments don't.