of single aloneness, through love, is made impossible for us by the ideal, the monomania of more love. At the very �ge dangereuse, when a woman should be accomplishing her own fulfillment into maturity and rich quiescence, she turns rabidly to seek a new lover. At the very crucial time when she should be coming to a state of pure equilibrium and rest with her husband, she turns rabidly against rest or peace or equilibrium or husband in any shape or form, and demands more love, more love, a new sort of lover, one who will “understand” her. And as often as not she turns to her son.

It is true, a woman reaches her goal of fulfillment through feeling. But through being “understood” she reaches nowhere, unless the lover understands what a vice it is for a woman to get herself and her sex into her head.