Kiss my foot, sir; my face is for mouths of consequence. - Thomas Hardy

The tearful glimmer of the languid dawn' was just sufficient to reveal to them the melancholy red leaves, lying thickly in the channels by the roadside, ever and anon loudly tapped on by heavy drops of water, which the boughs above had collected from the foggy air.

So each had a private little sun for her soul to bask in; some dream, some affection, some hobby, or at least some remote and distant hope....

To be lectured because the lecturer saw her in the cold morning light of open-shuttered disillusion was exasperating.