“I don’t want you to do it, to go on talking to me. Between her and the fair, far prospect of freedom and self-development manoeuvred Mr. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. I mean I’m not a good specimen of a woman. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. ’ She counted off on her fingers. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. Her anger parlayed with her confusion, as she realized that the new marriage was about as optional as the first one and her hunger was growing inside her like a weed. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. She herself had cut the slender tie that had bound them.
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