You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices. For nothing will ever convince me that it is not the man’s share in life to shield, to protect, to lead and toil and watch and battle with the world at large. ’ Mrs Prudence Sindlesham, a widow of several years’ standing, so she told Gerald, was a scarecrow of a female, long and lank of limb in a figure that had once been willowy. She was frightfully hungry. It will take at least three weeks. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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