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Updated: June 17, 2025
But your first one is rather a good title," she added, looking at Irais and drawing out her note-book. "I think I'll just jot that down." "If you jot down all we say and then publish it, will it still be your book?" asked Irais. But Minora was so busy scribbling that she did not hear.
And a child brought up on chicken and rice-pudding must be different to a child that eats Spickgans and liver sausages. And they are different; I can't tell in what way, but they certainly are; and I think if I steadily describe them from the materials I have collected the last three days, I may perhaps hit on the points of difference." "Why bother about points of difference?" asked Irais.
Irais is deeply interested in the experiment; she reads so many English books, and has heard so much about primroses, and they have got so mixed up in her mind with leagues, and dames, and Disraelis, that she longs to see this mysterious political flower, and has made me promise to telegraph when it appears, and she will come over.
"I really think, Elizabeth," said Irais to me later, when the click of Minora's typewriter was heard hesitating in the next room, "that you and I are writing her book for her. She takes down everything we say. Why does she copy all that about the baby? I wonder why mothers' knees are supposed to be touching? I never learned anything at them, did you?
"I always listen when people talk sensibly," replied Minora, stirring her grog. Irais glanced at her with slightly doubtful eyebrows. "Do you agree with our hostess's description of women?" she asked after a pause. "As nobodies? No, of course I do not." "Yet she is right. In the eye of the law we are literally nobodies in our country.
They would have no illusions, and a woman without illusions is the dreariest and most difficult thing to manage possible." "Thing?" protested Irais. The Man of Wrath, usually so silent, makes up for it from time to time by holding forth at unnecessary length. He took up his stand now with his back to the fire, and a glass of Glubwein in his hand.
"Put that down as the name of your next book on Germany." "I never know," complained Minora, letting her note-book fall, "whether you are in earnest or not." "Don't you?" said Irais sweetly. "Is it true," appealed Minora to the Man of Wrath, busy with his lemons in the background, "that your law classes women with children and idiots?"
Minora raised her eyes heavily, with the patient air of one who likes to be thought a sufferer. "I have a slight headache," she replied gently. "I hope you are not going to be ill," said Irais with great concern, "because there is only a cow-doctor to be had here, and though he means well, I believe he is rather rough." Minora was plainly startled. "But what do you do if you are ill?" she asked.
"Don't you know," said Irais, turning to her "that if you talk about such things here you run a great risk of being imprisoned?" "But why?" "But why?
When Irais first saw it she laughed till she cried, and at once commissioned her to paint hers, so that she may take it away with her and give it to her husband on his birthday, which happens to be early in February. The cake with its candles is the chief feature, and on the table round it lie the gifts each person present is more or less bound to give.
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