For, in bold natures, there is a lavish and uncalculating recklessness which scorns self unconsciously and though there is a fear which arises from a loving heart, and is but sympathy for others--the fear which belongs to a timid character is but egotism--but, when physical, the regard for one's own person: when moral, the anxiety for one's own interests.
It was in a small room in a lodging-house in the suburb of H---- that Mrs.Morton was seated by the window, nervously awaiting the knock of the postman, who was expected to bring her brother's reply to her letter.

It was therefore between ten and eleven o'clock--a morning in the merry month of June.

It was hot and sultry, which is rare in an English June.

A flytrap, red, white, and yellow, suspended from the ceiling, swarmed with flies; flies were on the ceiling, flies buzzed at the windows; the sofa and chairs of horsehair seemed stuffed with flies.

There was an air of heated discomfort in the thick, solid moreen curtains, in the gaudy paper, in the bright-staring carpet, in the very looking-glass over the chimney-piece, where a strip of mirror lay imprisoned in an embrace of frame covered with yellow muslin.