"I'm sure I didn't wish to hurt his feelings" (such was the form that her reflections took, in her present penitent frame of mind); "but why did he provoke me?
It is a shame to tell me that I love some other man--when there is no other man.
I declare I begin to hate the men, if they are all like Mr.Moody.

I wonder whether he will forgive me when he sees me again?
I'm sure I'm willing to forget and forgive on my side--especially if he won't insist on my being fond of him because he is fond of me.

Oh, dear! I wish he would come back and shake hands.

It's enough to try the patience of a saint to be treated in this way.

I wish I was ugly! The ugly ones have a quiet time of it--the men let them be.