“I have sometimes thought that a woman’s nature is
like a great house full of rooms: there is the hall, through which everyone
passes in going in and out; the drawing-room, where one receives formal visits,
the sitting-room, where members of the family come and go as they list; but
beyond that, far beyond, are other rooms, the handles of whose doors perhaps
are never turned; no one knows the way to them, no one knows whither they lead;
and in the innermost room, the holy of holies, the soul sits alone and waits
for a footstep that never comes.”—Edith Wharton, “The Fullness of Life”(1893), in Edith Wharton: Collected Stories 1891–1910, edited by Maureen Howard (The Library of America, 2001)
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