Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollendraper, who following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. You cannot depart hence. ‘But then again, possibly not. "By G—! she has missed her footing. But, as he made no answer, he was removed. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. Take it, I tell you. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls.
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