"Lots of hair. Stacks of it. And she's clever. She can cook and sew and make her own clothes and her sisters'. She's kept her father's house since she was fifteen. Without a servant."
"How awful for her. And you like her?"
"Yes, Mary."
"I'm glad you like her. Who else?"
"A Frenchwoman in Paris. And a German woman in Hamburg. And an
Englishwoman in London; the cleverest woman I know. She's unhappy, Mary.
Her husband behaves to her like a perfect brute."
"Poor thing. I hope you're nice to her."
"She thinks I am."
Silence. He peered into her face.
"Are you jealous of her, Mary?"
"I'm not jealous of any of them. You can marry them all if you want to."