“But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. Lucy replied to Mike, \"Nobody. Very well. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an experience to be strenuously evaded. I may want you. “We will try and make you happy, my dear, so that you may learn that lovemaking is perhaps a little more than your idea of a woman’s duty. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me.
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