No, something's happened, happened to-day.
Do you think I can't see?
You're bubbling over with it, longing to tell me, and afraid I'll laugh at you." She rose to her feet and stuck her needle into the pincushion, then she put her arm round Sally's waist, and hugged her gently.

"Poor, ridiculous, little Sally," she said, the first soft note that had entered her voice.

"I wouldn't laugh at you.

Don't you know you're made to be loved--not like me.
Men hate thin, bony faces and scraggy hair; they want something they can pinch and pet.

Lord! Imagine a man pinching my cheeks--it 'ud be like picking up a threepenny bit off a glass counter.