I Always Deserve The Best Treatment Because

It Is Very Difficult For The Prosperous To Be Humble.

She Was Feeling, Thinking, Trembling About Everything; Agitated, Happy, Miserable, Infinitely Obliged, Absolutely Angry.

She Went, However, And They Sauntered About Together Many A Half Hour In Mr. Grant's Shrubbery, The Weather Being Unusually Mild For The Time Of Year, And Venturing Sometimes Even To Sit Down On One Of The Benches Now Comparatively Unsheltered, Remaining There Perhaps Till, In The Midst Of Some Tender Ejaculation Of Fanny's On The Sweets Of So Protracted An Autumn, They Were Forced By The Sudden Swell Of A Cold Gust Shaking Down The Last Few Yellow Leaves About Them, To Jump Up And Walk For Warmth.

It Was Absolutely Necessary To Interrupt Him Now.

It Is The Misfortune Of Poetry, To Be Seldom Safely Enjoyed By Those Who Enjoy It Completely.