If women were the inhabitants of Jupiter, of whom you had happened to hear something, you would pore over us and our condition night and day; but because we are before your eyes you never look at us.
You care nothing that this is ragged and ugly," she said, putting her little finger on his sleeve; "but you strive mightily to make an imaginary leaf on an old stick beautiful.

I'm sorry you don't care for the position of women; I should have liked us to be friends; and it is the only thing about which I think much or feel much--if, indeed, I have any feeling about anything," she added, flippantly, readjusting her dainty little arms.

"When I was a baby, I fancy my parents left me out in the frost one night, and I got nipped internally--it feels so!" "I have only a few old thoughts," he said, "and I think them over and over again; always beginning where I left off.

I never get any further.
I am weary of them." "Like an old hen that sits on its eggs month after month and they never come out ?" she said quickly.

"I am so pressed in upon by new things that, lest they should trip one another up, I have to keep forcing them back.