I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to
find some kind of work and do it." She began to talk of the stupidity of
men in their approach to women. "Men hate such women as myself," she said.
"They can't use us, they think. What fools! They should watch and study us.
Many of us spend our lives loving other women, but we have skill. Being
part women, we know how to approach women. We are not blundering and crude.
Men want a certain thing from you. It is delicate and easy to kill. Love
is the most sensitive thing in the world. It's like an orchid. Men try to
pluck orchids with ice tongs, the fools."
Walking to where Clara stood by a table, and taking her by the shoulder,
the excited woman stood for a long time looking at her. Then she picked up
her hat, put it on her head, and with a flourish of her hand started for
the door. "You can depend on my friendship," she said. "I'll do nothing to
confuse you. You'll be in luck if you can get that kind of love or
friendship from a man."
Clara kept thinking of the words of Kate Chanceller on the evening when she
walked through the streets of the suburban village with Frank Metcalf, and
later as the two sat on the car that took them back to the city. With the
exception of another student named Phillip Grimes, who had come to see her
a dozen times during her second year in the University, young Metcalf was
the only one of perhaps a dozen men she had met since leaving the farm who
had been attracted to her.
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