Helen had not, however, forgotten the “inner woman,” as she pronounced it.
The inner woman was a recondite mystery deep as that of the sphinx, whose features her own resembled.
And to this strong cry of the Inner Woman, he turned a corner, and was in full view.
She ate and drank, and as the inner woman was recruited she felt a little more charitable towards the world at large.
There was something in the very sounds of such words which was appalling to the inner woman.
The Inner Woman had control, and she had quite resigned herself to its leading.
Yet it was the revealing of the inner woman, rather than the withering of the exterior, which betrayed her years.
All that splendid faith, which is exactly to the inner woman what courage is to the physical woman, had slipped away from me.
Thus and thus only, he had decided, could light be shed upon the mysterious twilight veiling the inner woman!
Also she wished time to dress herself carefully and solitude to get the inner woman under control.