And the tragedy of it was that she had a gift, she had temperament, she had genuine artistic feeling.
"When I remember the way I used to cook for the children," she remarked while she measured a teaspoonful of green tea into a little Japanese tea-pot, "why, I'd think nothing of roasting a turkey when we had one at Christmas or Thanksgiving, and now, I declare, it seems too much trouble to do more than make a pot of tea.

Sometimes I don't even take the trouble to toast my bread." "You ought to eat," replied Gabriella, briskly.

"When one gets run down, one never looks at life fairly." True to her fundamental common sense, she had never underestimated the importance of food as a prop for philosophy.
"I'd never eat if I could help it," rejoined Miss Danton, with the abhorrence of the aesthetic temperament for material details.

"It's queer the thoughts I have sometimes," she added irrelevantly as she sat down before the kitchen table, and poured out a cup of tea.

"I don't know what's come over me, but I'd give anything on earth--if it wasn't wicked I'd almost give my soul--to be your age and to be starting to live my life.