Lovers, and, I believe, lovers alone, pardon it in each other.

No services, no talents, no powers of pleasing, render it endurable.

Gratitude, admiration, interest, fear, scarcely prevent those who are condemned to listen to it from indicating their disgust and fatigue.

The childless uncle, the powerful patron can scarcely extort this compliance.

We leave the inside of the mail in a storm, and mount the box, rather than hear the history of our companion.