" "I'll tell you really why I keep her in peeled paint. Anna crossed the street, and letting herself in at No. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. 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. Deep silences came between them. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face.
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