"In wine there is truth. I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered. Am I going to die?” “I am afraid that you are in a dangerous state,” Courtlaw answered gravely. And my word's law—with you, at least," she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband. He closed the door. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. 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. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties.
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