Now comes the son of your mortal enemy, and you are but an obstruction in her path.

Your existence is forgotten while she revels in the memory of his words, his embraces, and his lips.

She laughs while you suffer, in obedience to the fate that Heaven has decreed for those who bring children into this world.
Who is to blame for the pitiable mite which children give in return for a parent's flood of love?
I do not know, but of this I am sure: if parents would cease to feel that they own their children in common with their horses, their estates, and their cattle; if they would not, as many do in varying degrees, treat their children as their property, the return of love would be far more adequate than it is.
Dorothy stood before her mirror plaiting her hair.

Her head was turned backward a little to one side that she might more easily reach the great red golden skein.

In that entrancing attitude the reflection of the nether lip of which John had spoken so fondly came distinctly to Dorothy's notice.