The wall of the sky, the wall of the horizon, the wall behind which each human being hid—the wall behind which she herself was hiding! If only her mother had lived, her darling mother! Presently the unhappy puzzlement left her face; and an inward glow began to lighten it. Let me see now. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. ’ ‘But it’s my affair, Melusine. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs.
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