She couldn't have worried George Washington and Friedrich Schiller and Hannah More.

She met this argument, to my surprise, by throwing up the album without a pang.

It wasn't even her own; she was responsible for none of its treasures.

It belonged to a girl-friend in America, a young lady in a western city.

This young lady had insisted on her bringing it, to pick up more autographs: she thought they might like to see, in Europe, in what company they would be.