A woman who hates you is playing the pianoforte.
You have five hundred a year. From who? Five hundred what? No one knows. No one cares. You have it. It’s yours. Every year. All five hundred of it.
A charming man attempts to flirt with you. This is terrible.
You are in a garden, and you are astonished."
My life is a modern day Austen Novel, pre meeting the dude that I hate/love.(via thatkindofwoman)