“I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and won and controlled and compelled. "My mother is avenged. What isn’t a day-dream is this: that you and I are going to put an end to flummery—and go!” “Go!” said Ann Veronica, clenching her hands.
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