I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. Her anger parlayed with her confusion, as she realized that the new marriage was about as optional as the first one and her hunger was growing inside her like a weed. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. ’ ‘Good. "She considers her future blasted beyond hope. 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.
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