Between her and the fair, far prospect of freedom and self-development manoeuvred Mr. Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly. But the great point was still unaccomplished. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. ‘Yes, I know. . Ramage admitted the force of that. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order.
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