Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. I should have gone mad without it. . I won't dig their graves with my nails. ’ Melusine giggled. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. Let’s go on climbing now. She struggled not to be afraid. What little happiness I had I was forced to steal.
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