A Man Is So In The Way

She Had A Bracelet On One Taper Arm, Which Would Fall Down Over Her Round Wrist. Mr. Thornton Watched The Replacing Of This Troublesome Ornament With Far More Attention Than He Listened To Her Father. It Seemed As If It Fascinated Him To See Her Push It Up Impatiently, Until It Tightened Her Soft Flesh; And Then To Mark The Loosening—the Fall. He Could Almost Have Exclaimed—'there It Goes, Again!

I Do Not Look On Self-indulgent, Sensual People As Worthy Of My Hatred; I Simply Look Upon Them With Contempt For Their Poorness Of Character.

I'll Not Listen To Reason... Reason Always Means What Someone Else Has Got To Say.

I Don't Believe There's A Man In Milton Who Knows How To Sit Still; And It Is A Great Art.

Mr Thornton Would Rather Have Heard That She Was Suffering The Natural Sorrow. In The First Place, There Was Selfishness Enough In Him To Have Taken Pleasure In The Idea That His Great Love Might Come In To Comfort And Console Her; Much The Same Kind Of Strange Passionate Pleasure Which Comes Stinging Through A Mother's Heart, When Her Drooping Infant Nestles Close To Her, And Is Dependent Upon Her For Everything.