I had no curiosity of that kind. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. ’ Exasperated, Gerald glared at her. 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. “Thought so. you walking home?\" 3 She paused, stunned. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. I would not have him know—now—for the world.
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