She slipped silently inside the door as he went inside a 12 putrid little bathroom to urinate. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. “No!” she exclaimed. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. ’ ‘Perfectly correct, my boy. She had not anticipated such a response from her classmates, but knew to be drawing them with her self-consciousness as if they were bees to pollen. "But, I half suspect, of your father.
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