Though A Good Deal Is Too Strange

They Spoke Very Little Of Their Mutual Feeling; Pretty Phrases And Warm Expressions Being Probably Unnecessary Between Such Tried Friends.

She Was Not An Existence, An Experience, A Passion, A Structure Of Sensations, To Anybody But Herself. To All Humankind Besides Tess Was Only A Passing Thought. Even To Friends She Was No More Than A Frequently Passing Thought.

This Hobble Of Being Alive Is Rather Serious, Don’t You Think So?

Their Position Was Perhaps The Happiest Of All Positions In The Social Scale, Being Above The Line At Which Neediness Ends, And Below The Line At Which The Convenances Begin To Cramp Natural Feeling, And The Stress Of Threadbare Modishness Makes Too Little Of Enough.

We Colour And Mould According To The Wants Within Us Whatever Our Eyes Bring In.