It's Rather Hard To Decide Just When

I Wish I Were Dead, Or That It Were Tomorrow Night,' Groaned Phil.

I Wonder What It Would Be Like To Live In A World Where It Was Always June.

Valancy Herself Had Never Quite Relinquished A Certain Pitiful, Shamed, Little Hope That Romance Would Come Her Way Yet - Never, Until This Wet, Horrible Morning, When She Wakened To The Fact That She Was Twenty-nine And Unsought By Any Man. Ay, There Lay The Sting. Valancy Did Not Mind So Much Being An Old Maid. After All, She Thought, Being An Old Maid Couldn’t Possibly Be As Dreadful As Being Married To An Uncle Wellignton Or An Uncle Benjamin, Or Even An Uncle Herbert. What Hurt Her Was That She Had Never Had A Chance To Be Anything But An Old Maid.

Snow In April Is Abominable," Said Anne. "like A Slap In The Face When You Expect A Kiss.

I Wonder Why People So Commonly Suppose That If Two Individuals Are Both Writers They Must Therefore Be Hugely Congenial," Said Anne, Rather Scornfully. "nobody Would Expect Two Blacksmiths To Be Violently Attracted Toward Each Other Merely Because They Were Both Blacksmiths.