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To be a woman is a horror I can little comprehend.
I wonder if this angered or frustrated him most—that for all his effort, his mighty, noble will, my body remained an uncracked fortress, the chilly mistress who cut him dead in the street. He could bring any manner of action to bear upon me, and yet it would not make my body bend to his want. Perhaps he did fear me a little, even then.
What is a monster but a creature of agency?
