I think it is because a woman’s life in London . . . is complicated. Even the part where we lounge in a parlor and read books—they have to be the correct books and they have to be read at appropriate times. Propriety and etiquette rule every step we take, every word we say. . . . One should think we habituate to this constant implication of potential slander, but I don’t. Every day I feel one fateful, clumsy misstep away from scandal. One slip-up and I’m losing my worth. The awareness is always present, a current in the back of one’s mind no matter how happy the days. I hadn’t ever seen it
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