For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. But it’s very beastly. ” And while he talked and watched her as he talked, she answered, and behind her listening watched and thought about him. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. “For I know that you love Ennison. Mr. I must tell somebody—and you would understand. The day is already half over. Then we find out. There is no Heaven for your mother. He would be off her case just as soon as his fever for her broke and he found a lover, and she imagined he must have plenty of girls from ritzy families lining up to choose from.
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