Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. ‘How she pouted, and tried to make out that she had been imposed upon. . I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. “Don’t ask me to tell you all that women can do, all that women can be.
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