’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. Her anger died and she eyed him. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. ’ ‘What, even less delightful than Gerald?’ enquired Lucilla, her eyes dancing. Not that there had ever been any hope of that. \"Has that John asked you for a date?\" Cathy added. The stain was blood, but this was a stain that resulted from being up one’s elbows in blood! She smiled a nurse’s knowing smile. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her.
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