I Am Not Romantic, You Know; I

She Was Stronger Alone.

I Frequently Observe That One Pretty Face Would Be Followed By Five And Thirty Frights.

There Is A Monsterous Deal Of Stupid Quizzing, & Common-place Nonsense Talked, But Scarcely Any Wit.

I . . . Am Always Half Afraid Of Finding A Clever Novel Too Clever--& Of Finding My Own Story & My Own People All Forestalled.

Could There Be Finer Symptoms? Is Not General Incivility The Very Essence Of Love?