But seclusion and contemplation are my what-his-name--' 'If you mean Paradise, Mama, you had better say so, to render yourself intelligible,' said the younger lady.
'My dearest Edith,' returned Mrs Skewton, 'you know that I am wholly dependent upon you for those odious names.

I assure you, Mr Dombey, Nature intended me for an Arcadian.

I am thrown away in society.

Cows are my passion.

What I have ever sighed for, has been to retreat to a Swiss farm, and live entirely surrounded by cows--and china.' This curious association of objects, suggesting a remembrance of the celebrated bull who got by mistake into a crockery shop, was received with perfect gravity by Mr Dombey, who intimated his opinion that Nature was, no doubt, a very respectable institution.
'What I want,' drawled Mrs Skewton, pinching her shrivelled throat, 'is heart.' It was frightfully true in one sense, if not in that in which she used the phrase.