Mock me not with outward gestures of respect. The heart, Clary, is what I want.
Indeed, Madam, you have it. It is not so much mine as my Mamma's!
Fine talking!—As somebody says, If words were to pass for duty, Clarissa Harlowe would be the dutifulest child breathing.
God bless that somebody!—Be it whom it will, God bless that somebody!—And I courtesied, and, pursuant to her last command, was going.
She seemed struck; but was to be angry with me.
So turning from me, she spoke with quickness, Whither now, Clary Harlowe?
You commanded me, Madam, to go to my chamber.
I see you are very ready to go out of my presence.—Is your compliance the effect of sullenness, or obedience?—You are very ready to leave me.
I could hold no longer; but threw myself at her feet: O my dearest Mamma! Let me know all I am to suffer! Let me know what I am to be!—I will bear it, if I can bear it: but your displeasure I cannot bear!
Leave me, leave me, Clary Harlowe!—No kneeling!—Limbs so supple! Will so stubborn!—Rise, I tell you.