She held her hand to the place where he had slapped her. She remembered the doctor's warning that the real battle would begin when the patient recovered consciousness. She found herself asking more and more curiously, “Why, on the principle of the survival of the fittest, have I any sense of beauty at all?” That enabled her to go on thinking about beauty when it seemed to her right that she should be thinking about biology. I was rude and stupid. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. “You doubted me?” She joked. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. Can't I make you understand? Perhaps it sounds cruel to you; but we women often have to be cruel defensively. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyNC42Ni4xMjggLSAxNi0wNy0yMDI0IDAzOjMwOjI1IC0gMzQyOTEzMzY5
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