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"Too many are all affectation, and pose, and forwardness. At twenty they know all there is to be known, they are blasees cynical ready for divorce before they are ready for marriage. By contrast you are so wholesome, so refreshing." "Thank you," Maggie again murmured.
A republican charmer must be exciting after all the blasees habituees of the London drawing-rooms." "How can you talk such nonsense, Mabel?" said Miss Cassewary. "But it is so. I feel that people must be sick of seeing me. I know I am very often sick of seeing them. Here is something fresh, and not only unlike, but so much more lovely.
"But Dyckman's crazy about you, Anita. I could see it in his eyes. He's plumb daffy." "Maybe so and maybe not. Maybe he's that way with every girl under forty. I've never seen him work, but I've seen him in the midst of that Newport bunch and they've got me lashed to the mast for clothes, looks, language, and everything." "You're a novelty to him, Anita. He's tired of those blasees creatures."
But such, he now recognized, were rather BLASEES, rather too obvious. They were the blown rose. But Maggie was fresh, and once she was properly broken in, she would be his perfect instrument. Yes, perfect! Barney's plans soared on.
Is civilisation really measured by the number of things people do respect? There would seem to be much evidence against it. The oldest societies, the societies with most traditions, are naturally not the least ironic, the least <i>blasees</i>, and the African tribes who take so many things into account that they fear to quit their huts at night are not the fine flower.
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