Depend upon it, child, I'll never control your choice; but Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often.

[…] the old lady is as ugly as any woman in the parish, and as tall and whiskery as a Grenadier.

All too often, students from nonmaterially privileged backgrounds assume a position of passivity — they behave as victims...

Is not then Fruition near akin to Love?