and during thattime she went

I believe we still don't know in the least how they live,or what they feel, or what they do precisely. If one's a man,the only confidences one gets are from young women about theirlove affairs. But the lives of women of forty, of unmarried women,of working women, of women who keep shops and bring up children,of women like your aunts or Mrs. Thornbury or Miss Allan--one knows nothing whatever about them. They won't tell you. 　　Either they're afraid, or they've got a way of treating men. 　　It's the man's view that's represented, you see. Think of arailway train: fifteen carriages for men who want to smoke. 　　Doesn't it make your blood boil? If I were a woman I'd blowsome one's brains out. Don't you laugh at us a great deal? 　　Don't you think it all a great humbug? You, I mean--how does itall strike you?"His determination to know, while it gave meaning to their talk,hampered her; he seemed to press further and further, and made itappear so important. She took some time to answer, and during thattime she went over and over the course of her twenty-four years,lighting now on one point, now on another--on her aunts, her mother,her father, and at last her mind fixed upon her aunts and her father,and she tried to describe them as at this distance they appearedto her. 　　They were very much afraid of her father. He was a great dim forcein the house, by means of which they held on to the great worldwhich is represented every morning in the _Times_. But the reallife of the house was something quite different from this. 　　It went on independently of Mr. Vinrace, and tended to hide itselffrom him. He was good-humoured towards them, but contemptuous. 　　She had always taken it for granted that his point of view was just,and founded upon an ideal scale of things where the life of oneperson was absolutely more important than the life of another,and that in that scale they were much less importance than he was. 　　But did she really believe that? Hewet's words made her think. 　　She always submitted to her father, just as they did, but it was heraunts who influenced her really; her aunts who built up the fine,closely woven substance of their life at home. They were lesssplendid but more natural than her father was. All her rageshad been against them; it was their world with its four meals,its punctuality, and servants on the stairs at half-past ten, that sheexamined so closely and wanted so vehemently to smash to atoms.