I Want Nothing But Death.

And If I Had Not A Letter To Write Myself, I Might Sit By You And Admire The Evenness Of Your Writing, As Another Young Lady Once Did. But I Have An Aunt Too, Who Must Not Be Longer Neglected.

His Feelings Are Warm, But I Can Imagine Them Rather Changeable.

How Much Sooner One Tires Of Anything Than Of A Book!

But When A Young Lady Is To Be A Heroine, The Perverseness Of Forty Surrounding Families Cannot Prevent Her. Something Must And Will Happen To Throw A Hero In Her Way.

[mrs. Allen Was] Never Satisfied With The Day Unless She Spent The Chief Of It By The Side Of Mrs. Thorpe, In What They Called Conversation, But In Which There Was Scarcely Ever Any Exchange Of Opinion, And Not Often Any Resemblance Of Subject, For Mrs. Thorpe Talked Chiefly Of Her Children, And Mrs. Allen Of Her Gowns.