How we cite our quotes:
Quote #7
Among her connections and acquaintances, however, [Mrs. Gowan] maintained her individual dignity and the dignity of the blood of the Barnacles, by diligently nursing the pretence that it was a most unfortunate business; that she was sadly cut up by it; that this was a perfect fascination under which Henry laboured; that she had opposed it for a long time, but what could a mother do; and the like. [...] With the utmost politeness and good-breeding, she feigned that it was she--not [Meagles]--who had made the difficulty, and who at length gave way; and that the sacrifice was hers--not his. The same feint, with the same polite dexterity, she foisted on Mrs. Meagles, as a conjuror might have forced a card on that innocent lady; and, when her future daughter-in-law was presented to her by her son, she said on embracing her, 'My dear, what have you done to Henry that has bewitched him so!' at the same time allowing a few tears to carry before them, in little pills, the cosmetic powder on her nose; as a delicate but touching signal that she suffered much inwardly for the show of composure with which she bore her misfortune. (1.33.3)
Mrs. Gowan might not have money, but she does have some aristocratic tricks of good breeding up her sleeve – like killing with kindness. Her maneuvers are so skillful that the narrator flat-out compares her to a stage magician doing card tricks. It's not surprising that the spin she puts on this marriage sticks, and everywhere the Gowans go, everyone assumes that it's Henry who got the raw end of the deal.
Quote #8
Nothing could exceed Mr. Dorrit's indignation, as he turned at the foot of the staircase on hearing these apologies. He felt that the family dignity was struck at by an assassin's hand. He had a sense of his dignity, which was of the most exquisite nature. He could detect a design upon it when nobody else had any perception of the fact. His life was made an agony by the number of fine scalpels that he felt to be incessantly engaged in dissecting his dignity.
'Is it possible, sir,' said Mr. Dorrit, reddening excessively, 'that you have--ha--had the audacity to place one of my rooms at the disposition of any other person?'
Thousands of pardons! It was the host's profound misfortune to have been overcome by that too genteel lady. He besought Monseigneur not to enrage himself. He threw himself on Monseigneur for clemency. If Monseigneur would have the distinguished goodness to occupy the other salon especially reserved for him, for but five minutes, all would go well.
[...] 'I tell you, sir,' said Mr. Dorrit, panting with anger, 'that you separate me--ha--from other gentlemen; that you make distinctions between me and other gentlemen of fortune and station. I demand of you, why? I wish to know on--ha--what authority, on whose authority. Reply sir. Explain. Answer why.' (2.3.42-50)
We love the progression of damage to Dorrit's dignity described here as it goes from brutal and point-blank to more and more refined and niche. First, it's attacked by an assassin, then by some kind of organized conspiracy, then by the sharp and exacting knife of the vivisector. (A vivisector was a biologist back in the day who would dissect animals while they were still alive to find out how they work. Totally horrible.)
Quote #9
'Amy, my dear Amy,' retorted Fanny, parodying her words, 'I know that I wish to have a more defined and distinct position, in which I can assert myself with greater effect against that insolent woman. [...] she little thinks how I would retort upon her if I married her son. I would oppose her in everything, and compete with her. I would make it the business of my life. [...] I would talk of her as an old woman. I would pretend to know--if I didn't, but I should from her son--all about her age. And she should hear me say, Amy: affectionately, quite dutifully and affectionately: how well she looked, considering her time of life. I could make her seem older at once, by being myself so much younger. I may not be as handsome as she is; I am not a fair judge of that question, I suppose; but I know I am handsome enough to be a thorn in her side. And I would be!'
'My dear sister, would you condemn yourself to an unhappy life for this?'
'It wouldn't be an unhappy life, Amy. It would be the life I am fitted for.' (2.14.40-49)
Imagine marrying some guy just to get back at his mom. Yikes. Also, why does Fanny hate Mrs. Merdle with such an undying passion? Is it because Mrs. Merdle wounded her ego – the one place Fanny cannot take any kind of injury? Do we ever see Fanny forgiving anyone else?