Michael Malone - Weebly

At the kaffeeklatsch of the women's movement,
she (upper crust of the upper class of Mount Holyoke
wits) was simply, glaringly, an arriviste. Even here in
the mental hinterlands she was blackballed by
revolutionaries. Here were Tracy and Beanie merrily
reveling in sororal bachelorhood like wassailing
maenads and showing her the door! And why?
Because she had espoused the marriage vow, and the
duty of proper child-rearing. Life was ironic, as she'd
always said. And that g.d.
Beanie, that nethermost plebe of the intellect, that
Brobdingnagian haus and horse frau, Beanie was the
modern woman!
Nouveau riche in the riches of passion with Rich
Rage. It was Beanie who had flung the apron to the
hearth, defied censure for sensuality, put herself before
her husband and children, slept with a man, so to
speak, on the first date. It was Beanie who, apparently,
had no fear of flying at all. Mrs. Ransom's world had
flown off its axis. A reign of terror was upon her. The
revolution had struck down the aristocracy and put
peasants in the vanguard. The first had become last, the