Had I known more of the ways of women I might have taken less pains.
"You're a deal changed from what you used to be, Jack," said she, looking at me sideways from under her dark lashes.
"You said not when first we met," says I.
"Ah! I was speaking of your looks then, and of your ways now.

You used to be so rough to me, and so masterful, and would have your own way, like the little man that you were.

I can see you now with your touzled brown hair and your mischievous eyes.

And now you are so gentle and quiet and soft-spoken." "One learns to behave," says I.
"Ah, but, Jack, I liked you so much better as you were!" Well, when she said that I fairly stared at her, for I had thought that she could never have quite forgiven me for the way I used to carry on.
That anyone out of a daft house could have liked it, was clean beyond my understanding.

I thought of how when she was reading by the door I would go up on the moor with a hazel switch and fix little clay balls at the end of it, and sling them at her until I made her cry.