Wood entered the room, followed by Thames. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. David Courtlaw. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. And many of these deaths could be avoided if it were not for superstition. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared. He contrasted the lot of women in general with the lot of men, presented men as patient, self-immolating martyrs, and women as the pampered favorites of Nature.
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