"You see, Benham," he went on, "she's human. She's not really
feminine. I mean, she's--unsexed. She isn't fitted to be a wife or
a mother any more. We've talked about the possible life in England,
very plainly. I've explained what a household in Cambridge would
mean. . . . It doesn't attract her. . . . In a way she's been let
out from womanhood, forced out of womanhood, and I see now that when
women are let out from womanhood there's no putting them back. I
could give a lecture on Anna. I see now that if women are going to
be wives and mothers and homekeepers and ladies, they must be got
ready for it from the beginning, sheltered, never really let out
into the wild chances of life. She has been. Bitterly. She's
REALLY emancipated. And it's let her out into a sort of
nothingness. She's no longer a woman, and she isn't a man. She
ought to be able to go on her own--like a man. But I can't take her
back to Cambridge. Even for her sake."
His perplexed eyes regarded Benham.
"You won't be happy in Cambridge--alone," said Benham.
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