She had wondered how some little girls whom she had known had loved to sleep with their dolls; as for her, she would as soon have thought of taking pleasure in dozing off with any little roll of linen clasped in her arms.

It was rather singular, for she had a vivid imagination, but it had balked at a doll.

When, as sometimes happened, she saw a little girl of her own age, wheeling with solemnity a doll in a go-cart, she viewed her with amazement and contempt, and thought privately that she was not altogether bright.
But this baby was different.

It did not have to be laid on its back to make its eyes close, it did not have to be shaken and squeezed to make it vociferous.

It was alive, and Maria, who was unusually alive in her emotional nature, was keenly aware of that effect.