Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. " The woollen-draper made no answer, but hastily starting up, bolted the door. “And, after all, I am just one common person!” She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her breast. I will no longer be a burthen to those upon whom I have no claim, but compassion. Seeing her improved mood, he had offered the Latin reading lesson strategically, knowing it would surprise her that he considered her capable.
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