“Why don’t they wait?” he added. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. Every moment. And it is not at all his affair. . In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order.
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