At least that, I think, is what makes a clever woman’s independent career so much more difficult than a clever man’s. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. ’ She grimaced. ’ ‘You may not get the chance. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. It was free of leering men, unthinkable punishments, and human evil. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. Oh, I grew fond of you as the years went by. There was absolute quiet. You are wrong even about that man’s scientific position and his standard of work.
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