“The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white mother. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. ‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested.
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