Here her strength completely failed her, and she was compelled to seek some repose. She turned quickly. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. She shrugged her shoulders. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. He was absolutely unable to focus his ideas. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. Wood, "and take your son with you.
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