‘I only wish I might have won her confidence. I don’t want to bother you, of course. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth. He talked very little and rather absently. A common rage flushed their faces. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her. 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.
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