She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. Until she had left her island, what she heard and what she saw were truths. Opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. She didn’t know anything more about your mom. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. “Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are things as they are?”—“Why are human beings viviparous?”—“Why are people hungry thrice a day?”—“Why does one faint at danger?” She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life. He sees men all defiled by coarse thoughts, coarse ways of living cruelties. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said.
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