For nothing will ever convince me that it is not the man’s share in life to shield, to protect, to lead and toil and watch and battle with the world at large. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. Miss Mary to the life, I said, and so she is.
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