“Life is upsetting enough, without the novels taking a share,” said Mr. Old Bedlam 291 IX. How dreary it all looks. He could neither stifle nor deaden that. Grandmothers and grandfathers and uncles and aunts … to love and to coddle lonely little girls. She wouldn't be able to pass by anywhere without folks turning their heads. So I've grown hard—outside. It runs about gayly, it romps, it is bright and pretty, it has enormous quantities of soft hair and more power of expressing affection than its brothers. I'm almost sorry I've sworn to hang you.
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