"And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. It’s made up of things as small as the diameter of hairs and big as life and death. “I wonder which of us enjoys that most,” said Capes—“does he, or do we?” “He seems to get a zest—” “He does it and forgets it. “They all catch on,” she said. He contrasted the lot of women in general with the lot of men, presented men as patient, self-immolating martyrs, and women as the pampered favorites of Nature. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel.
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