"I will live," cried Blueskin, with a look of the deadliest hatred at Wild, "to be revenged on you. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. "I should be perfectly miserable if I thought you in earnest. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. Manning, all this sort of thing is very well as sentiment, but does it correspond with the realities? Are women truly such angelic things and men so chivalrous? You men have, I know, meant to make us Queens and Goddesses, but in practice—well, look, for example, at the stream of girls one meets going to work of a morning, round-shouldered, cheap, and underfed! They aren’t queens, and no one is treating them as queens. But if he starts a long jog, his name is Dennis. For my part, I think those shackles extremely becoming. It was exactly as Sebastian had foreseen.
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