"I shall go back and finish my supper," said Mrs. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. "Married!—no—no," replied the woollen-draper. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. . ‘We’ll have you right out of the way, just in case.
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