“I’m ready,” said Ann Veronica, closing her microscope-box with a click, and looking for one brief instant up the laboratory. There’s hardly a night she doesn’t sneak out of the house. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky.
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