‘Knew you had the lad with you, and thought you were merely delayed. ’ ‘I do. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. Suppose our proper place is a shrine. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted.
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