She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. 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. What of it?” There was a shout of laughter. Cut it as short as you can. ‘Except Captain Roding,’ agreed the old lady, nodding at the butler. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. ’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously.
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