In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. His arms released from his 68 sides, he lifted them around her in a light embrace. He contrasted the lot of women in general with the lot of men, presented men as patient, self-immolating martyrs, and women as the pampered favorites of Nature. Sleep did not come easily, but eventually her mind stopped its chattering and she fell into a deep slumber. “You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband.
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