"I am afraid she is being infected by the people at the station.

She ought to have a change." "I was just thinking," said Josephine, looking abstractedly at her mother, "that I would try to get John to take her to San Francisco this winter.

The Careys are expected, you know; she might visit them." "I'm afraid, if she stays here much longer, she won't care to see them at all.

She seems to care for nothing now that she ever liked before," returned the old lady ominously.
Meantime the subject of these criticisms was carrying away her own reflections tightly buttoned up in her short jacket.

She had driven back her dog Spot--another one of her disillusions, who, giving way to his lower nature, had once killed a sheep--as she did not wish her Jacques-like contemplation of any wounded deer to be inconsistently interrupted by a fresh outrage from her companion.