The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. From me. ” “Touch you I mean?” She looked around. ’ ‘Nonsense. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. " "Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan. "Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. “It was a phase,” she said. “Women have been and are treated as the inferiors of men, we want to make them their equals.
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