It doesn't make me out an amiable character, I'm afraid," she added, "but I can't endure living with other people.

An occasional man with a beard is interesting; he's detached; he lets me go my way, and we know we shall never meet again.

Therefore, we are perfectly sincere--a thing not possible with one's friends." "Nonsense," Denham replied abruptly.
"Why 'nonsense' ?" she inquired.
"Because you don't mean what you say," he expostulated.
"You're very positive," she said, laughing and looking at him.

How arbitrary, hot-tempered, and imperious he was! He had asked her to come to Kew to advise him; he then told her that he had settled the question already; he then proceeded to find fault with her.

He was the very opposite of William Rodney, she thought; he was shabby, his clothes were badly made, he was ill versed in the amenities of life; he was tongue-tied and awkward to the verge of obliterating his real character.
He was awkwardly silent; he was awkwardly emphatic.