Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. I always thought that I could find and destroy all of her children, but there was no keeping up with it. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. “He wants me to have dinner at his parent’s house tonight,” still looking at a series of spots on the carpeting.
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