At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and won and controlled and compelled. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. But she made a pretence of struggling a little, for it would be out of character for her not to do so and she did not want to arouse his suspicions. “For me,” Manning went on, “this isn’t final. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. The chance it is the same for both. ’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously. The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. Practically all.
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