Spurlock looked up. A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. Then he threw the letter at me. “I’ve been thinking—all the afternoon. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. Where I am in error, you can set me right. ‘Couldn’t even trouble to make a pretence of motherhood. U. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic Professor Michael S.
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