Every moment, I am a rape-field--a corn-field, a bean-field, farther from Barbara, farther from the Brat, farther from the jackdaw.
"This is rather a long day for you, child!" says Sir Roger, kindly, perceiving, I suppose, the joviality of the expression with which I am eying the German landscape.

"The most tedious railway-journey you ever took, I suppose ?" "Yes," reply I, "far! It seems like three Sundays rolled into one, does not it?
What time is it now ?" He takes out his watch and looks.
"Twenty past five." "_Seven_ hours more!" say I, with a burst of desperateness.
"I am so sorry for you, Nancy! what can one do for you ?" says my husband, looking thoroughly discomfited, concerned, and helpless.

"Would you care to have a book ?" "I cannot read in a train," reply I, dolorously, "it makes me _sick_!" Then feeling rather ashamed of my peevishness--"Never mind me!" I say, with a dusty smile; "I am quite happy! I--I--like looking out." The day falls, the night comes.

On, on, on! There is a bit of looking-glass opposite me.

I can no longer see any thing outside.