“Am I pretty?” “Yes; I think you are very pretty.” “Am I insulting?” “Not so much so as you were last time,” said I. “Not so much so?” “No.” She fired when she asked the last question, and she slapped my face with such force as she had, when I answered it. “Now?” said she. “You little coarse monster, what do you think of me now?” “I shall not tell you.” “Because you are going to tell up stairs. Is that it?” “No,” said I, “that’s not it.” “Why don’t you cry again, you little wretch?” “Because I’ll never cry for you again,” said I. Which was, I suppose, as false a declaration as ever was made;
...more
