She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome. If Thames is murdered, you are his assassin. The babies that the woman—your wife—refused to stop creating. ” She stated boldly. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. Like the flaws of an old marble. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow.
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