Whereat the lass, being slender herself, and with a head that sat easily on her shoulders, would walk off like the haughty little Princess she was, and thrust her chin so far forward that even the pretty round of it bespoke a pointed scorn.

And the poutlets would come and go on her red lips so quickly that I would come from the window, leaving my book and Christian's Elsa, and a thousand Elsas, just to watch them.
"So, Great Brother," Helene would say, "you think she is pretty, do you?
'Tis interesting, for sure.

As for me, I see not anything pretty about her.

Now, there is Katrin Texel, she is pretty, if you like.

What say you to her ?" And this was because the minx knew well that I never could abide Katrin Texel, a girl all running to seed like a shot stalk of rhubarb, who would end up in the neighborhood of six foot in height, and just that "fine figure of a woman" which I never could abide.
"_Feech_!" I would say, copying her Wendish expression.