All her life she had looked to some man as to the saviour of the family fortunes, and her vision was still true enough to perceive that, as a human being, Archibald Fowler was finer and bigger than his wife, that Billy was finer and bigger than Patty.

She had found men less the servants of mere instinct than she had found women, less the passive and unresisting vehicles of the elemental impulses.

Then, too, they were so seldom the victims of life, and there was in her nature a fierce contempt for a victim.

She despised people who submitted to circumstances, who resigned themselves to necessity, as if resignation were a virtue instead of a vice.
"Well, you must try not to worry, dear; worry is so bad for you.

I am so sorry it happened.