And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. She had started wearing the dresses he bought for her, the white and blue shift he said, “brings out the color in your eyes”. With her lived a Mrs. Wherein she differed but little from her young sisters.
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