Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. I mean my cut-offs and boots. Somehow. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. I’ve been wondering where she got her dogged will, and that hot-headed adventurous spirit, for it wasn’t from either Mary or Nicholas, that’s sure. No doubt she was wondering what he had done in Charvill’s house and what he intended now. She had to explain about and pay off that forty pounds. "Go to the pump, Nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water.
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