But that brought Mrs. Manning in fancy costume, as though he was a doll. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. "I give you all of my genius, and you say—'Get out!' I am some kind of a dog. . At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and won and controlled and compelled. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words.
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