More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“I suppose,” thought Harriet, “she had one of those small, summery brains, that flower early and run to seed. Here she is—my intimate friend—talking to me with a painful kind of admiring politeness about my books. And I am talking with a painful kind of admiring politeness about her children. We ought not to have met again. It’s awful.”
never again would she mistake the will to feel for the feeling itself.
“Very likely,” said Harriet. “You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of men—of the male character, I mean, as such.” “No,” said Miss Hillyard, “not very high. But they have an admirable talent for imposing their point of view on society in general. All women are sensitive to male criticism. Men are not sensitive to female criticism. They despise the critics.”
“I suppose one oughtn’t to marry anybody, unless one’s prepared to make him a full-time job.”
