They had not been destroyed because they had, or seemed to her to have, the language of passion.

She could read them unmoved, and appease a wicked craving she owned to having, and reproached herself with having, for that language.
Was she not colour in the sight of men?
Here was one, a mouthpiece of numbers, who vowed that homage was her due, and devotion, the pouring forth of the soul to her.

What was the reproach if she read the stuff unmoved?
But peruse and reperuse it, and ask impressions to tell our deepest instinct of truthfulness whether language of this character can have been written to two women by one hand! Men are cunning.

Can they catch a tone?
Not that tone! She, too, Mrs.Amy May, was colour in the sight of men.

Yet it seemed that he could not have written so to the Queen of Blondes.