"Stop thief!" clamoured the rabble behind. "You think our sex has no feeling, I suppose, Sir," cried Mrs. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were. “You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. 1715.
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