He looked at her, hurt. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. Mother and Son. “You are talking like a boy. ‘Well, she’d better learn fast if she wants any truck with me. The man was my husband. Every girl in the world practically, except a few of us who teach or type-write, and then we’re underpaid and sweated—it’s dreadful to think how we are sweated!” She had lost her generalization, whatever it was.
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