“Because I hate you!” She spat. I guess she used to pick on her for being big and fat. Small blame to her. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. She liked the animated eagerness of his manner. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. " "Give you the best I have in either case," replied Figg.
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