These anarchistic doctrines had a quaint absurdity on the lips of this mild, little New England woman. Milly, not having lived in circles where the fundamental relations of life were discussed with such philosophical frankness, was puzzled. The Reddons must be "queer" people, she thought.
"So I tell Sam when he gets fussy that if he isn't careful, I'll flanquer la porte to him and run the shop myself."
"My!"
"I could, too, and he knows it—which is very salutary for him when he gets uppish and dictatorial, as all men will at times."
"How could you?"
"You see I'm an expert taxidermist. I learned the thing vacations to help an uncle out, who was a collector. I could always make a living at it, and one for the kiddies too. That's the nub of the whole matter, as we used to say in the country."
(Later, Milly remembered this talk in its every bearing, and had reason to appreciate the profound truth of the last statement.)
"But you love your husband," Milly remarked as if to reassure herself.
"Of course I do, or I shouldn't be living with him and bearing his children. But he needs me and the children rather more than I need him—which is the better way."