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He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. After all, Hilary must be near returned by now. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. “The real reason why I am out of place here,” she said, “is because I like men. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. She tried to appear as if she had never been questioned before. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit. Then perhaps it is Prudence?’ ‘Oh la la! That is not me at all. She was only a few yards from the door, but lacked the courage to rise and fly.
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