Whenever you present the actual, simple truth, it is, somehow, always denounced as a lie--they disown it, cast it off, throw it on the parish; whereas the product of your own imagination, the mere figment, the sheer fiction, is adopted, petted, termed pretty, proper, sweetly natural--the little, spurious wretch gets all the comfits, the honest, lawful bantling all the cuffs. 
Whenever you present the actual truth, it is, somehow, always denounced as a lie; whereas the product of your own imagination, the fiction, is adopted, petted, called sweetly natural. 