‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. CHAPTER I. A sprinkling of callow youths, and a couple of pronounced young Jews, who were talking loudly together in some unintelligible jargon of the City. “Women have been and are treated as the inferiors of men, we want to make them their equals. Mutual concessions!—and then to turn it around so that it suggested that an act of kindness might be interpreted as moral obloquy! Walls; queer, invisible walls that receded whenever she reached out, but that still remained between her and what she sought. You’d think with as much dick as she gets that she’d cheer up. All this while he was arranging the medicines on the stand and jotting down his instructions on a chart sheet. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. Blood, they say, won't come out. She had changed into dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark.
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