“Who can tell?” she said. But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things. ” “It was Cheveney!” he said slowly. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. But it’s as you say. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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