“You are very good,” she said. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. You might have spared yourself many useless journeys and disappointments, and us a good deal of anxiety. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Manning, all this sort of thing is very well as sentiment, but does it correspond with the realities? Are women truly such angelic things and men so chivalrous? You men have, I know, meant to make us Queens and Goddesses, but in practice—well, look, for example, at the stream of girls one meets going to work of a morning, round-shouldered, cheap, and underfed! They aren’t queens, and no one is treating them as queens. Wood was scarcely seated before Mr. ” “He imposed on me,” Annabel continued. One main avenue was for her to become a sort of salaried accessory wife or mother, to be a governess or an assistant schoolmistress, or a very high type of governess-nurse. And still you interest yourself in my affairs.
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