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341 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1914
She would learn that out in the world justice and mercy and pity are not easy, natural things. They must be found - fought for, insisted on. 'Mother,' she finished, 'has never fought for anything in her life.'
Men, for her, had been creatures to be pleased and to be cared for, and men had loved her and been good to her precisely because of this attitude of hers.
'Tyrannous young bluestocking!' he said. "I don't think we need bother our old lady with books. It's just where books fail that we want her to come in. (. . .) I don't she's as happy as she ought to be. She's an active old thing, and it's no use her pretending that she can settle down to knitting. (...) So we thought that if she were to give some of her time to combating the firm's ruthless oppression it would be a new interest for her, besides putting an end to one of the worst excess of of the capitalistic regime!'
I meant to open your eyes, to make you understand the connection between your luxury and the sweating of those underpaid, exhausted girls.
I hate all men when they're powerful and using their power to be cruel to women. And that's most of them - nearly always, whether they mean to or not.
I hate them most for what they've made of us. We love them and their children, so we are at their mercy.
It is true then, after all, that civilisation is only a cloak for barbarism
it saves them trouble to call us mysteries
for what are women, after all, but mere camp-followers