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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
Lord love ‘ee, neither court-paying, nor preaching, nor the seven thunders themselves, can wean a woman when ‘twould be better for her that she should be weaned.
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.