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 her loss of adorers, and from a certain perverseness, rather than quickness of parts, that gifts her with the sublime art of ingeniously tormenting; with no consciousness of her own infirmities, or patience for those of others; she is dreaded by the gay, despised by the wise, pitied by the good, and shunned by all."

Then, looking at Juliet with a strong expression of surprise, "What Will o'the Wisp," he cried, "has misled you into this briery thicket of brambles, nettles, and thorns? where you cannot open your mouth but you must be scratched; nor your ears, but you must be wounded; nor stir a word but you must be pricked and worried? How is it that, with the most elegant ideas, the most just perceptions upon every subject that presents itself, you have a taste so whimsical?"

"A taste? Can you, then, Sir, believe a fate like mine to have any connexion with choice?"

"What would you have me believe,