"Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. A faint buzz above the ceiling witnessed that petrography, too, was active. ‘Yes, for there were too many females for the vicomte to make me a dowry. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. Why should you want to shield him?" "I really don't know.
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