Across the broad continent of a woman’s life falls the shadow of a sword. On one side is all correct, definite, orderly; the paths are straight, the trees regular, the sun shaded; escorted by gentlemen, protected by policemen, wedded and buried by clergymen, she has only to walk demurely from cradle to grave and no one will touch a hair on her head. But on the other side is all confusion. Nothing follows a regular course…
- from the essay, Harriette Wilson; by Virginia Woolfe