...it Was Like An Examination Paper That

It's A Sort Of Bloom On A Woman. If You Have It, You Don't Need To Have Anything Else, And If You Don't Have It, It Doesn't Much Matter What Else You Have. Some Women, The Few, Have Charm For All; And Most Have Charm For One. But Some Have Charm For None.

When She Expressed A Doubtful Hope That Tinker Bell Would Be Glad To See Her, He Said, ‘who Is Tinker Bell?’ ‘o Peter,’ She Said, Shocked; But Even When She Explained He Could Not Remember. ‘there Are Such A Lot Of Them,’ He Said. ‘i Expect She Is No More.’ I Expect He Was Right, For Fairies Don’t Live Long, But They Are So Little That A Short Time Seems A Good While To Them.

All Children, Except One, Grow Up. They Soon Know That They Will Grow Up, And The Way Wendy Knew Was This. One Day When She Was Two Years Old She Was Playing In A Garden, And She Plucked Another Flower And Ran With It To Her Mother. I Suppose She Must Have Looked Rather Delightful, For Mrs Darling Put Her Hand To Her Heart And Cried, ‘oh, Why Can’t You Remain Like This For Ever!’ This Was All That Passed Between Them On The Subject, But Henceforth Wendy Knew That She Must Grow Up. You Always Know After You Are Two. Two Is The Beginning Of The End.

But The Years Came And Went Without Bringing The Careless Boy; And When They Met Again Wendy Was A Married Woman, And Peter Was No More To Her Than A Little Dust In The Box In Which She Had Kept Her Toys.

Strength Instead Of Being The Lusty Child Of Passion, Grows By Grappling With And Subduing Them.