“I’m not a murderer….I’m just a slut, and you can’t be acquitted of that.”
All in contemporary fiction
“I’m not a murderer….I’m just a slut, and you can’t be acquitted of that.”
“What would they think of her now, her old lefty student friends, coming back as a fertility tourist? Was she now the colonial memsahib? The benevolent bringer of bounty or the ruthless trader, smiling her way back home?”
“It was known that the two women shared hedge and hatred and they pruned both with a vim that belied their ages.”
She had been bred for marriage; even her high-powered Vassar education had only served to make her more marriageable to the right sort of man, and she hadn’t known what else to do with herself.”
Why was she ashamed? Because she was supposed to be; because women, especially at her age, did not ask for these sorts of pleasures.