She did not notice that Mirah was angry with her; she was not distinctly conscious of anything but of the penetrating sense that Deronda and his life were no more like her husband's conception than the morning in the horizon was like the morning mixed with street gas. 
She did not notice Mirah's anger; she was not conscious of anything but of the sense that Deronda was no more like her husband's conception than the dawn was like gas-light. 