And, meanwhile, how admirably small and cool _her_ nose looks! What rest and composure in her whole pose! What a neat refinement in the disposition of her hair! What a soft luxury in her dress! Even my one indisputable advantage of _youth_ seems to me as dirt.

Looking at the completeness of her native grace, I _despise_ youth.

I think it an ill and ugly thing in its green unripeness.

I look round the room.

After the thick outside air, saturated with moisture, I think that the warm atmosphere would, were my spirit less disquieted, lull me quickly to sleep.