‘You won’t get a thing out of her. After all, if one could wait twenty years or more in between bouts of lovemaking, one could certainly wait a few more days. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. “The other too if it is within my power. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. Daughters were in the air that day. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. Wood.
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