Donne was thick-skinned. He did not feel all or half that the tone, air, glance of the speaker expressed. He knew not on what ground he stood.
"Wretched place this Yorkshire," he went on. "I could never have formed an idea_r_ of the country had I not seen it. And the people--rich and poor--what a set! How _corse_ and uncultivated! They would be scouted in the south."
Shirley leaned forwards on the table, her nostrils dilating a little, her taper fingers interlaced and compressing each other hard.

Donne was thick-skinned. "Wretched place, this Yorkshire," he went on. "The people - what a set! How coarse and uncultivated! They would be scouted in the south."
Shirley leaned forwards on the table, her fingers interlaced and compressing each other hard.
