Oh, Mr. Thornton, I Am Not Good

On Some Such Night As This She Remembered Promising To Herself To Live As Brave And Noble A Life As Any Heroine She Ever Read Or Heard Of In Romance, A Life Sans Peur Et Sans Reproche; It Had Seemed To Her Then That She Had Only To Will, And Such A Life Would Be Accomplished. And Now She Had Learnt That Not Only To Will, But Also To Pray, Was A Necessary Condition In The Truly Heroic. Trusting To Herself, She Had Fallen.

Nothing Like The Act Of Eating For Equalizing Men. Dying Is Nothing To It.

But Margaret Was At An Age When Any Apprehension, Not Absolutely Based On A Knowledge Of Facts, Is Easily Banished For A Time By A Bright Sunny Day, Or Some Happy Outward Circumstance. And When The Brilliant Fourteen Fine Days Of October Came On, Her Cares Were All Blown Away As Lightly As Thistledown, And She Thought Of Nothing But The Glories Of The Forest.

I Wanted To See The Place Where Margaret Grew To What She Is, Even At The Worst Time Of All, When I Had No Hope Of Ever Calling Her Mine.

I Won't Say She Was Silly, But I Think One Of Us Was Silly, And It Wasn't Me.