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Why it was that upon this beautiful feminine tissue, sensitive as gossamer, and practically blank as snow as yet, there should have been traced such a coarse pattern as it was doomed to receive; why so often the coarse appropriates the finer thus, the wrong man the woman, the wrong women the man, many years of analytical philosophy have failed to explain to our sense of order.
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More from Tess of the d'Urbervilles
Did it never strike your mind that what every woman says some cannot!
Once victim, always victim-that’s the law!
A little one-eyed blinking sort of place.
That cold accretion called the world, which, so terrible in the mass, is so unformidable, even pitiable, in its units.
“Justice” was done, and the President of the Immortals, in aeschylean phrase, had ended his sport with Tess. And the d’Urberville knights and dames slept on in their tombs unknowing. The two speechless gazers bent themselves down to the earth, as if in prayer, and remained thus a long time, absolutely motionless: the flag continued to wave silently. As soon as they had strength they arose, joined hands again, and went on.