And proved very soon the last act of our session.
“Fiddlesticks, is it, sir? I wonder the ceiling
Doesn’t fall down and crush you! Oh, you men have no feeling.
You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures,
Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers,
Your silly pretence—why, what a mere guess it is!
Pray, what do you know of a woman’s necessities?
I have told you and shown you I’ve nothing to wear,
And it’s perfectly plain you not only don’t care,
But you do not believe me” (here the nose went still higher):