"What?… Oh!… Well, good Lord!" He wrenched loose his head and stood up, sending the chair clattering to the floor. 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. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. But, you see, she HAS to lie up. ” “That is exactly what I feel. "Where am I to take it to?" asked Sheppard.
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