Often I'll brush
out my pincurl set, add in all my sectioning clips and hairspray everything into place, feeling content I did my best with my limited skills and even more limited
patience... And then I'll move to somewhere with different lighting, or go to take a picture against a lightly coloured wall, and realise there's a ton
of frizz in my set that I hadn't noticed while styling it against the dark background that's reflected in my getting - ready mirror.
On such an afternoon some score
of members
of the High Court
of Chancery bar ought to be... engaged in one
of the ten thousand stages
of an endless cause, tripping one another up on slippery precedents, groping knee - deep in technicalities, running their goat - hair and horse - hair warded heads against walls
of words and making a pretence
of equity with serious faces, as players might... between the registrar's red table and the silk gowns, with bills, cross-bills, answers, rejoinders, injunctions, affidavits, issues, references to masters, masters» reports, mountains
of costly nonsense, piled before them... This is the Court
of Chancery, which has its decaying houses and its blighted lands in every shire, which has its worn -
out lunatic in every madhouse and its dead in every churchyard, which has its ruined suitor with his slipshod heels and threadbare dress borrowing and begging through the round
of every man's acquaintance, which gives to monied might the means abundantly
of wearying
out the right, which so exhausts finances,
patience, courage, hope, so overthrows the brain and breaks the heart, that there is not an honourable man among its practitioners who would not give — who does not
often give — the warning, «Suffer any wrong that can be done you rather than come here!