"Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. She is English! I am sure of that. His sword then came in for his scrutiny: he felt at, and appeared satisfied with its edge. You’re dogmatic. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot.
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