"We're sweetly provincial," said Mr.Osmond, "and I'm perfectly aware that I myself am as rusty as a key that has no lock to fit it.

It polishes me up a little to talk with you--not that I venture to pretend I can turn that very complicated lock I suspect your intellect of being! But you'll be going away before I've seen you three times, and I shall perhaps never see you after that.

That's what it is to live in a country that people come to.
When they're disagreeable here it's bad enough; when they're agreeable it's still worse.

As soon as you like them they're off again! I've been deceived too often; I've ceased to form attachments, to permit myself to feel attractions.

You mean to stay--to settle?
That would be really comfortable.