Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. "Utterly," reiterated Jack, gloomily,—"as regards all I hold dear. You don’t know about Mary because you live in Kent. ” He frowned heavily. Mr. ’ Alderley glanced round the bedchamber. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. She wants that and needs it more than anything else in the world. He suddenly realized that he could not keep you for ever in this part of the world; so he sends you to your aunt.
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