But, if there be, or ever were, one such, / It's past the size of dreaming: nature wants stuff / To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine / An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy, / Condemning shadows quite.

In the last chapter I tried to deal with the actual problem created in this country by the disproportion of the sexes--the fact that there are, roughly, one and three-quarters to two million more women than men in this country; and I was obliged to confine myself simply to stating the problem, which, to my mind, is very greatly intensified by the fact, generally ignored, that the sex needs of a woman are just as imperative, their suppression just as hard to bear, as a man's; that woman is fully as human as man, and that parenthood and loverhood and all that the satisfaction of the sex instinct means to him, it means also to her.

Is this it, I remember thinking, as I dripped sweat and rainwater the last few yards to the manse. Is this when the body parts start to rebel and refuse to function? So I'd learned to pace myself.

Every few days some unfortunate was buried on Boot Hill, a victim of his own inexpertness with the six-shooter.