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is the mere disparity, the naked strangeness. A woman could not love a
man, as the phrase is, who wore skirts and pencilled his eye-brows, and
by the same token she would probably find it difficult to love a man who
matched perfectly her own sharpness of mind. What she most esteems in
marriage, on the psychic plane, is the chance it offers for the exercise
of that caressing irony which I have already described. She likes to
observe that her man is a fool--dear, perhaps, but none the less damned.
Her so-called love for him, even at its highest, is always somewhat
pitying and patronizing.
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