That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. “Father,” she cried, “I have to live!” He misunderstood her. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. There are cigarettes and magazines in the corner there. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions.
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