You don't give him
a woman's love, you give him an ideal love, and that is why he reacts
away from you. You don't know. You only know the dead things. Any
kitchen maid would know something about him, you don't know. What do
you think your knowledge is but dead understanding, that doesn't mean a
thing. You are so false, and untrue, how could you know anything? What
is the good of your talking about love--you untrue spectre of a woman!
How can you know anything, when you don't believe? You don't believe in
yourself and your own womanhood, so what good is your conceited,
shallow cleverness--!'
The two women sat on in antagonistic silence. Hermione felt injured,
that all her good intention, all her offering, only left the other
woman in vulgar antagonism. But then, Ursula could not understand,
never would understand, could never be more than the usual jealous and
unreasonable female, with a good deal of powerful female emotion,
female attraction, and a fair amount of female understanding, but no
mind.
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