If I can bow to her once in the day (I know her to bow to, knowing Mr.Larkins), I am happier.

I deserve a bow now and then.

The raging agonies I suffer on the night of the Race Ball, where I know the eldest Miss Larkins will be dancing with the military, ought to have some compensation, if there be even-handed justice in the world.
My passion takes away my appetite, and makes me wear my newest silk neckerchief continually.

I have no relief but in putting on my best clothes, and having my boots cleaned over and over again.

I seem, then, to be worthier of the eldest Miss Larkins.