He contrasted the lot of women in general with the lot of men, presented men as patient, self-immolating martyrs, and women as the pampered favorites of Nature. When he tried the scullery door, and would have moved on, Hilary intervened. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. I have worn it for weeks and weeks. "There, Sir," she added, unlocking the door, "you can go in. He felt himself collapse heavily onto her naked body, still inside her. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings. Hold your hand for a moment. Ruth is not another man's wife; she is all your own, for better or for worse. One could go to him and tell him one loved him.
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