"All alike, Molly; all as much alike as peas in a pod; all except John
Moore, who's the only exception in all the male tribe I ever met! His
marrying once was just accidental and must be forgiven him. She fell in
love with him while he was attending her when she had typhoid, when his
back was turned as it were, and it was simple kindness in him that made
him marry her when he found out how it was with the poor thing. There's
not a woman in this town who could marry that wouldn't marry him at the
drop of his hat--but, thank goodness, that hat will never drop, and I'll
have one sensible man to comfort and doctor me down into my old age.
Now, just look at that! Mr. Johnson's come home here in the middle of
the morning, and I'll have to get that old paper I hunted out of his
desk for him last night. I wonder how he came to forget it!"

It's funny how Mrs. Johnson always knows what Mr. Johnson wants before
he knows himself and gets it before he asks for it!

As she went out of the gate the postman came in, and at the sight of
another letter my heart slunk off into my slippers, and my brain seemed
about to back up in a corner and refuse to work. In a flash it came to
me that men oughtn't to write letters to women very much--they really
don't plough deep enough, they just irritate the top soil. I took this
missive from Alfred, counted all the fifteen pages, put it out of sight
under a book, looked out of the window and saw Mr. Johnson shooed off
down the street by Mrs. Johnson; saw the doctor's car go chugging
hurriedly in the garage, and then my spirit turned itself to the wall
and refused to be comforted. I tried my best, but failed to respond to
my own remonstrances with myself, and tears were slowly gathering in a
cloud of gloom when a blue gingham, romper-clad sunbeam burst into the
room.