The two friends contrasted strikingly with each other. He has nothing to fall back upon, no substitute; but a woman always has the mother love. 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. The ruffian's companions took his part. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. Tom Sheppard was always a close file, and would never tell whom he married. Latterly I’ve been doing things. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter.
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