Playing became a way of escape. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. "Remember!" cried Quilt, as he forced the captive along. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. Now, you know where he is bound. A Hand that strove to reach his shoulder, relentless, soulless but lawful. Quite soon, after we were married—it was just within a year—I formed a friendship with the wife of a friend, a woman eight years older than myself. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. I’ve never had these crying fits before. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. Perhaps it was loneliness.
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