“Yes,” said Ann Veronica, trying to think where they were, trying to get things plain again that had seemed plain enough in the quiet of the night. “Whenever they try to take hold of life a man intervenes. One studies Nature in order not to be blindly ruled by her. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. He knocked at the door. Ruth wore a printed cotton kimono. Then she stood up and looked around the room. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen.
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