Besides, she had such an intense craving for their affection, and even their companionship, for there were times when her life felt withering up within her--chilled to death by the gloom of the dull home, with its daily round of solemn formalities.

If she had spoken, she would have burst into tears.

To save herself from this, she rose and left the parlor.
It might have been weak, unworthy a woman of spirit; but Christian was, in one sense--not Miss Gascoigne's--still a very child.

And most childlike in their passionate bitterness, their keen sense of injustice, were the tears she shed in her own room, alone.

For she did not go to Dr.Grey: why should she?
Her complaints could only wound him: and somehow she scorned to complain.