It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. There’s something about you, a little flavor of Will, I suppose, that makes one feel—good luck about you and success. The evenings were dulcet and soft. It was a simple wish. " "I won't reproach you, Jack," said the other, sternly. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them.
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