“How shall I put the question? What am I? What have I got to do with myself?. He then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side, rode off. “You and Anna,” she said, “seem to have stumbled upon a mare’s nest. Love stories! It was of negligible importance that these books were bound in paper; Romance lay unalterably within. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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