“What are you doing?” He cried. “I do hope you will see how things are, and not be offended with me or frightfully shocked and distressed by what I have done. Nature is a mother; her sympathies have always been feminist, and she has tempered the man to the shorn woman. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. The woman shrugged her shoulders. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. You see me here, an admitted failure in the object to which I have devoted two years of my life. "Spring!—I never knew any.
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