He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square. I shall lose my fees and the laced coat. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. The Matriarchate! The Lords of Creation just ran about and did what they were told. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. “I mean to go to that dance! I meant to reason with you, but you won’t reason. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage.
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