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amongst you, seated on a high-legged drawing-room chair, the back of which she would not have touched on any account, for the ruffling of her pinched frill and collar. And when you showed her a butterfly or flower from the garden, and said, "Is not that beautiful?" she would draw herself up most precisely, and say, "I believe it is considered so." (Laughing again.)

Move on, foolish boy.

She would not give her opinion, but with prudent reserve, on the merits of a beetle or a cockchafer.

Go, go!

And that too was affectation; for she was a careless hoyden first of all, and took to sense and preciseness afterwards.

Move on, I say. We are losing time here, and may be prevented.