Oh, you must believe me. This time they would call it murder. “Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. “It’s bound to be all right,” she said. "But this need give you no uneasiness," pursued Jonathan; "Mrs. That knot also would be cut. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and won and controlled and compelled.
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