I should not mind a bit if one proposed to me even.
I love a handsome face.
They part their hair in the middle. They have inherited no bad habit of biting their finger-nails. I suppose they offer a grace before each meal. Their smile isn’t sardonic, and their laughter is open.
I have no dispute with their mustaches and their blue eyes. But I am far from being an admirer of their red faces.
Japs are pygmies. I fear that the Americans are too tall. My future husband is not allowed to be over five feet five inches. His nose should be of the cast of Robert Stevenson’s.
Each one of them carries a high look. He may be the President at the next election, he seems to say. How mean that only one head is in demand!
A directory and a dictionary are kind. The ’Merican husband is like them, I imagine.
I have no gentleman friend yet.
To pace alone on the street is a melancholy discarded sight.
What do you do if your shoe-string comes untied?