He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. "Do you dare to insinuate that Mrs. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. “I shall be very glad to have you for a friend,” he said, “loving friend. “Pray accept my apologies. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding.
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