Reminder! You do not have to be from a certain country to spread awareness and use your platform to speak out against something. We all share the same issue, our governments. If you’re not aware of what is happening in the UK at the moment, please try and educate yourself because we are quickly moving in the same direction of the US, if we don’t speak out and educate people, Reform UK will get in. They’re currently leading in the polls, in each country in the UK, Greens are close behind.
That being said, our current government is actively spreading misinformation and lies about marginalised groups in the UK. They’re using an attack on the Jewish community as a tool for their Israeli propaganda, demonising Palestine marches that had NOTHING to do with the attack, they’re actively erasing the Muslim man who was attacked by the same perpetrator just a couple hours earlier, ignoring the rise in Islamophobic, misogynistic and homophobic attacks, multiple of which have been reported in the last couple of days. The newly formed met police force specifically for Jewish individuals and the £25 million going toward the community is arguably marginalising them more and making the wider public more angry. It’s disgusting that they’re so blatant about their use of marginalised communities for propaganda.
Please if you’re from the UK, vote for Green and stop us from moving toward Reform’s take on Trump’s America.
I've seen multiple people question why Armand is trying to make Louis apologize and it's genuinely making me lose my mind?
Louis swept into his home city, demanded special treatment and to be exempt from coven rules even though Armand already knew he was a vampire killer and was cutting him slack, then put the coven in direct danger of exposure while absolutely refusing any chance to get the fuck out or join the coven that Armand was offering him, while offering him literally 0 verbal affection, very little physical affection, and not even CONFIRMING that they were in a relationship, WHILE evoking his half-remembered real name that he associates with his years as a child slave in a brothel INTO A BDSM DYNAMIC, THEN when Armand was like "Ok, my coven is gonna mutiny if I don't kill you so I'll have to kill you" he proceeded to burn his life's work down and kill 12/13 people Armand had spend the past 200 years with, THEN he explicitly dragged Armand along in a loveless relationship for 77 years JUST TO SPITE LESTAT, WHILE cheating on him more than 200+ times over and over and over
Did you watch the goddamn show? Louis was fucking awful to Armand.
Lestat thinking about all his loved ones and coven members in his hour of need in TOTBT and when he gets to Armand Lestat says his name a full SEVEN times in the space of a few sentences.
Lestat is such an Armand simp. lmfao
Not to mention the way he talks about him in the prologue.
*lmfao that Gabi stray.
Like, can Lestat get it together? Armand's not even IN this book bro. Why is he all over your thoughts and prayers my guy???
Q2: Is this why they celebrate Alexander Hamilton in the theatres?
Q2: Did Hitler destroyed money and it is when Lenin destroyed money. If you break money then communism and fascism rise (follow-up on fav statement from today's live stream)
Q3: when did america start money "printing" as a way to balance the books?
'Tonight's company' entailed what had to be half of the city's nobility.
If New York had such a thing as aristocrats, this was them. Alexander recognized a handful of familiar faces from Elizabethtown as the Livingston's frequent visitors. He recognized another handful only as familiar names from the balancing sheets of Beekman and Creuger- who were also apparently in attendance.
Both hands full, he occupied himself with listening, observing, nodding along and politely shaking or kissing hands when offered.
Mulligan stayed by his side through countless introductions, gentlemen and ladies in their finest, dresses and embroidery and perfumes and powders. As a student and a tailor they were not these aristocrats' interest for the night, but they made pleasant conversation with them anyway while everyone waited for their meal to be served. All exceedingly polite, imminently important, somewhat familiar, and entirely forgettable.
Miles Cooper was indeed there, along with James Rivington and his wife Elizabeth, but so were Isaac Sears and his wife Sarah Drake, John Lamb and Catherine Jardine, George Clinton and Cornelia, Alexander McDougall and Hanna Botswick, Phillip Schuyler and Catherine van Rensselaer and his business prodigy William Duer, James Duane of the Manhattan Chancery Court with Mary Livingston, his friend James de Lancey, and Lancey’s rival Lewis Morris, Lewis’s brothers Staats, Richard, and Gouverneur who was the first familiar face Alexander had seen and the only person he knew well enough to linger near.
His smile was starting to ache, so he grabbed Mulligan’s wrist for a reprieve.
Mulligan looked at him and then up to Gouverneur who had been attending to Sarah and Sally while their fiancé and husband talked a few paces away. “I’ve been a negligent host to our young friend.” Mulligan confided to the young lawyer. “He’s without a drink,” he said, “Would you-”
“Of course! Come, Alex- we were just congratulating Sally on her recent triumph over the ton.”
Right…Alexander had heard about John Jay’s proposal just a month ago. He had very little direct contact with the Livingstons since he had decided to enroll at Kings- too Anglican for their association- but Kitty kept him involved. Barely eligible for a year and Sally was to be married to one of the brightest lawyers of their generation. He reached to take her hand. “A triumph indeed,” he said, gently brushing his lips to her lace glove.
“It is so good to see you, Alex,” she said, lowering her voice as if it was a confession.
He supposed it was. Calling him anything but ‘Mister Hamilton’ in their present company was closer to scandalous than his attention deserved and she knew it. But, her familiarity did make this stuck-up place feel more-comfortable.
Sally was a darling girl and a tender friend. Though he hadn’t been able to return the compliment, Alexander wasn’t oblivious to the favor she’d paid him while he boarded with her family. Innocent and aimless as it was. He’d felt her gaze at times, watching from the window while he recited latin speeches and poems to himself in the garden. He knew it had little to do with his private performances and far more to do with the vision of him generally- because he felt those same stares when he was simply sitting and reading. But, he would never pity a girl stationed so far above him for her feelings, and when he had disclosed his suspicions, hoping to warn her against them, she assured him that she wanted nothing more than fraternal love from him.
Which he was delighted to give.
Tonight, Sally was a vision in her bright green dress. It made her youth all the more stark, especially in their current company. It was no wonder that Kitty had been glad for Alex to be in New York, here to assist the scheming on her behalf as a brother should.
In the city, where men “could find all sorts of diversions to keep them from marriage until they’re rotting in their boots”, a preeminent bachelor of thirty was not a bad catch at all for a capable hunter like Sally.
Unfortunately, Livingston women were captives of their ton and the rules of courtship, dependent on fathers and brothers for introductions to suitors. Perhaps Alex had lacked the status to make such introductions, but he was a gallant defender. If not the Sword, at least the Shield, capable of subtly repelling the undesirables on her behalf. If the matter had been left up to Gouverneur alone, Kitty worried her sister might end up with a man four times her age.
Jay moved so slowly, there was a time that Alexander had feared she might. The older suitors were the hardest to deter.
Meanwhile, Gouverneur was so sure he’d orchestrated the grand match completely by himself, “All that I’ve seen of him at the practice, he’s kind and dedicated to the right. A true, honest man,” he was saying. “Which are so rare to find these days.”
“True. Women must make their own more often than not,” Sarah Drake Sears agreed. "Honest men that is."
“If only we were allowed to the bar-" Sally said, smiling tauntingly, "better yet, to sit at the bench. It would take a judge to make Gouverneur honest.”
Jay had stepped in closer at his fiancé’s side, near enough to hear her jab. “My ears were itching a moment ago, but now I’m not sure I want to hear why…” he said.
He'd brought Sears along with him to supervise their wives' ribbing. The gracefully-aging sea-captain-made-merchant wasn’t looking at Alexander, and yet still, being so close to the man that practically owned the city’s fealty, Alex's lungs felt tight.
To his credit, Morris had recovered quickly. “I was telling your darling Miss Livingston just how lucky she is to make your match, but now she's got me questioning the very concept of wives."
The glint in Jay's eyes cast a small warning towards Sally not to drive the knife too deep, but Sears was openly amused.
"A tricky one, I agree. Especially with one so quick-tongued and rudely beautiful." It should have been an insult, and from anyone else it might have, but Sally was pressing down a flustered smile against the King's harmless attentions. Sears turned to Morris to say, "Women age like wine. I would advise you to find a match that's been held in reserve a little longer, though there is something to be said for a crisp bite to the pallet."
"I do prefers sweets myself..." Gouverneur said. "But, if the freshest fruit wants to bite my pallet who am I to complain?"
"Incorrigible," Jay's eyes rolled. "I fear for your future wife."
“We all do," Alex heard his own voice tumbling out before he could stop it. "But, he's so far from marrying, I'm sure his future wife hasn’t even been born yet.”
No one laughed.
The joke sunk in slowly and they all just stared.
There was a line somewhere back there and Alexander would very much like to be back on the other side of it.
Gouverneur's lips had parted, uncharacteristically speechless.
Sally's brow had pinched in a mix of confusion and concern. Alex could see the moment his cruel meaning struck her because her face flushed.
Sarah Drake was shaking her head and her husband was struggling to press down a pinched smirk at Gouverneur's expense.
Jay was entirely unamused.
This wasn't Bill Livingston's parlor. If there was one thing that Alexander had learned from his days there, it was that humor was delicate in this echelon of society. Familiarity was fleeting and grace was a thin mask, easily shed. The Livingstons tolerated his rough-hewn edges because his wit could be good fun in private, but in front of their peers...
He didn't say another word. Turned and strode away as fast as his legs would carry him without running.
Mulligan was in his escape path, carefully holding two crystal wine glasses. His eyes widened, and he spun to fall into step beside him until they reached a secluded corner.
Then immediately, "What happened?"
"This is not my scene," Alex said, facing the wall. He pinched his temple, ran his thumb and finger sidelong over his eyes, then squeezed the bridge of his nose as if that might soothe the lingering urge to flee. "I can't play this part and I need to be recast. Immediately. Look- I thought I saw Marinus Willett here," a classmate that he had spotted, talking to the most unfortunately-shaped British officer that Alex had ever seen. "Give him my notes- he can talk to Sears. Make him your pen."
Mulligan's gaze was lost, confused and worried. "Did someone say something?"
"I did! I..." Alex shook his head. He sighed, took a breath, and reached for the wine glass perched in Mulligan's fingers then emptied it in one wide gulp. "I made an ass of myself. Unwittingly cruel to Gouverneur Morris. Deserved or not, it wasn't well done."
"I see..."
"This is not like drawing rooms and dinner talk," he said. "I could explain the Tea Party there. I can dominate the conversation if it pleases a room of friends, but this is something else altogether. These people are...you should have told me what to expect, I don't..." have anything to say.
For a long moment, Mulligan was quiet, just stared at him and then handed him the second glass and took away the first.
The alcohol helped, and it had to be the most flavorful wine Alexander had ever had. He looked at his glass.
The surprise must have shown on his face because, "Lamb's," Mulligan explained. "He provided the wine for tonight. Indisputable taste in vintage. That's why the import business has made him rich."
Alex finished the glass and handed it over.
He should slow down, shouldn't get drunk here, but Mulligan just gave him a sturdy smile. "Y'know, John Lamb's father was a thief- an indentured servant because of it, shipped with his wife to America for burglary just before John was born. Everyone knows it. He'll even talk about it if you ask."
Alex turned back to the parlor to search the crowd for the man in question. Tall, and broad yet he held himself gracefully as anyone else in the room, with round cheeks and a long smiling face. Another titan in human form.
"If this were England, there'd be no accounting for a man out of that background standing in this room, with these men, providing them with his wine. Any gentleman in this room could secure his wines and trade them- could do it easier with far more-ready access to any vintage they'd like to sample. Their tastes have been refined since they were children given their first sips of the grape. But, he's here, and do you know why?"
Alex was far too used to the tailor's roundabout ways of making his point to let himself be this intrigued by the journey.
"Because he can write." Mulligan reached down and fixed some invisible defect in the way Alexander's collar was laying. "His advertisements were poetry. His descriptions alone could make your mouth water more than a draft of the strongest rum. His words made him rich and his wealth made him powerful."
Turning to face the crowd as well, Mulligan put himself beside Alexander and pointed into another group of conversing gentlemen.
"Do you know who that is?"
He shouldn't. Recognizing faces in this room would imply that Alexander had been watching the streets for his social superiors. Gossiping. The whole point of being at King’s was to finish his education quickly and catch up with his peers. But, with a host like Hercules Mulligan, one couldn’t avoid certain stories and when one knew certain stories, one knew to look for certain faces. "Alexander McDougall."
"Mmn, indeed. The Wilkes of America.”
In this house, on the end of John Street, Alexander was standing in the shadow of Golden Hill. Here, just a few years ago, the Sons of Liberty had put up such a stand that certain names were embedded into the city's collective memory, Isaac Sears, John Lamb, Alexander McDougall. They had become symbols of bravery and resistance. More legends than men.
"To the Betrayed Inhabitants' was him," Mulligan said. "So, the force that pamphlet drew out, the energy and power that it stirred, that was his too. It's words, my boy. We all have them, but if you can get yourself the chance to use them wisely, they turn themselves into power."
Alex knew that well enough. Of course he knew- he'd had a taste of it already, just enough to get him into this party, but, "My words are the problem tonight," he said. "When they come from my hands, I can control them...my mouth is another story."
That earned a sympathetic laugh, "No, I suppose that's true. Oratory is quite a different beast from writing, and we both know where your talents lie. The voice is the rudest publisher- no retractions, no edits..."
"I can just write my piece for Cooper and submit a separate one to publish," Alex said.
"You can, and you certainly will, but not without a pseudonym unless you want to lose your course at Kings," Mulligan pointed out. "The point of bringing you here was precisely this. Showing these men the origin of your thoughts so that, when they make it to print- they have no doubts who wrote them."
"I can't speak those thoughts to them if I can't get into a conversation without putting my foot in my mouth."
"Which is why we are going back." Before Alex could protest, Mulligan had a hand on his shoulder, gently steering him back into the crowd towards where Morris and Sears were now talking. "Maybe you can't take back whatever you said, but...you can always amend it. Give it more fabric until it forms a desirable shape..."
Apologize or lie. That was all he was saying, but as they came back to Gouverneur, Sears and his wife, Alexander searched for Sally as they walked- the one person he truly should apologize to. But, she and Jay had moved on to a new circle.
Still. He knew what fabric to sew and how to let it lay, an admission, a concession, sacrifice, apologies and lies. He came to a stop in front of Gouverneur, and as soon as he had his attention, said- "I'm sorry I was rude to you and vulgar." Then he looked at Isaac and Sarah. "You are my host and I was offensive in your home against my own friend. I stepped away from it because I did not know what to say to make that right."
"It's alright, Alex-"
Before Gouverneur could stop him, Alex held up a hand to let him finish.
The young lawyer stepped back and folded his hands.
"It's not alright. I need to confess, the topic of marriage has vexed me since Sally debuted. You are aware of how her family welcomed me when I came from St Croix. Without intrinsic connections, I was their boarder, but more than that, when I had none of my own, they were my family. So, Mister Morris, you must understand, the duty that you were able to fulfill to Sally as a gentleman is one that I envy."
This was not a secret he ever expected to trade, but this performance was working. His small audience was hooked, waiting to be reeled in with the story and feeling. Sarah in particular was studying him with a certain consideration that had him convinced he was transparent to her. Yet still, she was watching.
So, he laid it on thick, "I have no sisters of my own, but I once did."
They were words Alexander hadn't spoken aloud in half a decade. Yet here he was, offering up this piece of himself for the good graces of powerful strangers. It felt worse than groveling.
"She would be a few years younger than Sally now, and I just think...if she were alive, she would be eligible next year. With me as her brother, so distant and untethered in this place, her prospects would be dismal. Girls are held so helpless in this world, and when Kitty asked you to look out for Sally...I resented being helpless too."
Gouverneur obviously didn't know what to say.
So, "I know this doesn't excuse my rudeness. I just thought, if you knew it was envy, you might more easily forgive-"
"Water under the bridge." Gouverneur pulled Alex under his arm and squeezed him by the shoulders tightly, dragging him into the fold.
Alex got a final glimpse of Mulligan's smirk as he slipped off to talk to Willett and the vulture-like officer he was engrossed with.
The conversation became a whirlwind from there.
Gouveneur and Issac were already speaking of politics. They were unrestrained in his company. With the rest of their guests at a safe distance to speak candidly, it took nearly no effort for Alex to learn why it had been so important to recruit a reporter who had seen the state of Boston Harbor.
The Sons of Liberty had been awaiting a similar shipment of tea from the East India Trading Company in New York Harbor for months. Their shipment had, unfortunately, been delayed in arrival, allowing the Bostonian Sons to act first and take center stage, but Sears and McDougall were feverishly planning their own performance.
With time to prepare their case before taking action, they were looking, not just for writers, but for agents on the ground, capable of spreading information through other means besides print and collecting information from corners of the city which would become increasingly inaccessible to them- Anglican corners.
Arguments would have counterarguments, and counterarguments needed prepared defenses.
The servants had finished setting the tables for dinner, and their hosts excused themselves to oversee their meal's arrangement before the procession into the dining room.
It was a show of grandeur, the lords and ladies marching in to their places at the feast. Music and talking and tasting exotic dishes. Knowing how much control the people at this table held over the rabble outside the doors, how much of their scheming was done in quiet conversations and casual dealings, Alexander tried to hear as much as possible while seeming as unassuming as he could. With Mulligan at his side, bragging about fitting the governor for a new suit, asking about a visiting theater troupe's upcoming playbill, joking about the latest cases at the chancellory court, it was easy to fit in.
As a student in one of the most Anglican universities in America, Alexander was understanding the role Mulligan saw for him, but his time in Sears' eyes had been so short, he felt keenly insecure about it.
Throughout the meal, he smiled and strained, not knowing for sure if his place here was an ephemeral illusion. If he would return to his small room above Mulligan's foyer, shed these fancy clothes, return to his books, and be forgotten to everyone he'd met tonight.
He knew he couldn't impress them when the dancing began. But, there was one sure way to know if he had made an impression on Sears...
After the last course was served, parties began rising from their tables and milling about, resuming previous conversations and drawing one another away from the dinning room to go visit the great hall where strings were beginning to play.
As her guests departed, the lady of the house lingered behind to continue directing the servants. Sarah Drake was a thin brunette with a round face and laughter lines framing her eyes.
Alex lingered long enough for her to notice him before he approached. He'd kissed her hand when he was first introduced, but he did it again now. “I was told I shouldn’t call your husband King tonight, but am I allowed to call you Queen?”
She laughed, a delicate, melodic sound, and leaned in to confide, “I'm sure you know there's little love for monarchs here, but if this were a game of chess, I rightfully would be one.”
Alex smiled because she was indulging him and it was delightful. “I agree. I assumed he had you making his most important moves. The wives so often are."
She gave a small laugh, dodging his eyes, but it was confirmed, if not outright. “There are advantages to your sex’s tendency to underestimate mine," she said. "The Queen can always travel further in directions where the King is limited."
"Quite true, and her placement commands the other pieces just as much as his," Alex agreed. Perhaps her husband would not tell him what role he could play, but, "She determines the strength of their defenses, and the best angles for attack. Since she moves in every way, and guards just by her proximity, when you have her protection, you're free to move at will. There is something to be said for a woman's leadership in war."
That finally earned her gaze, locked onto his. "That's a word that will set people on edge if you're not careful."
"I don't think I need to be careful with you...I feel quite protected."
She held his eyes steadily for another moment before breaking away to direct a slave that was carrying a bowl of pastries towards the kitchen to take it out to the great hall instead.
Alexander waited, clasped his hands behind his back.
She returned to him, leaning lower and dropping her voice. "There's an excellent little bakery on Cherry Street. I recommend you purchase their brioche tressée on Wednesday. If you find yourself with inquiries about it... Miss Lottie knows the recipe."
Alex nodded firmly, sealing the deal more resolutely than any handshake between businessmen.
In a way, he made me think of a child doll, with brilliant faintly red-brown glass eyes—a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radiant than he was.
“That’s what you always want,” he said softly. His voice shocked me. If he had any French or Italian accent left, I couldn’t hear it. His tone was melancholy and had no meanness in it at all. “When you found me under Les Innocents,” he said, “you wanted to bathe me with perfume and dress me in velvet with great embroidered sleeves.”
“Yes,” I said, “and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair.” My tone was angry. “You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.”
We eyed each other for a moment. And then he surprised me, rising and coming towards me just as I moved to take him in my arms. His gesture wasn’t tentative, but it was extremely gentle. I could have backed away. I didn’t. We held each other tight for a moment. The cold embracing the cold. The hard embracing the hard.
Anne Rice
I love this anecdote from Affairs of Honour so very much. It really sums up certain aspects of Hamilton's personality.
"The Republican meeting [that Hamilton was trying to counter] was to start at noon. At the stroke of twelve, Hamilton mounted a stoop and began to address the crowd, only to be silenced by "hissings, coughings, and hootings." Trying a different approach, he handed someone a resolution to read aloud. The crowd quieted in anticipation, but when they heard the resolution declaring it "unnecessary to give an opinion on the treaty," they erupted in protest, someone throwing a rock that hit Hamilton in the head. Calling for the "friends of order" to follow him, Hamilton and a small body of Federalists stormed off, humiliated and defeated.
"They soon encountered a loud public argument between Republican James Nicholson and Federalist Josiah Ogden Hoffman. Fearing that the two would incite a riot, Hamilton tried to quiet them, only to be silenced by Nicholson, who denounced Hamilton as an "Abettor of Tories" who had no business interrupting them. When Hamilton urged the men to settle matters indoors, Nicholson snapped that he had no reason to heed Hamilton, who had once dodged a duel. "No man could affirm that with truth," Hamilton shot back, pledging "to convince Mr. Nicholson of his mistake" by challenging him to a duel. Stalking off, Hamilton and his friends soon encountered a group of Republicans, sparking a heated political discussion that quickly grew personal. Still seething from his first clash, Hamilton swore that if his opponents "were to contend in a personal way," he would fight the whole lot of them, one by one. Then, dramatically waving his fist in the air, he upped the ante, offering "to fight the Whole `Detestable faction' one by one," a dare that Republican Maturin Livingston could not ignore. As "one of the party," he accepted the challenge and offered to meet Hamilton with pistols "in half an hour where he pleased." Explaining that he already "had an affair on his Hands … with one of the party," Hamilton swore that when the first duel was settled, Livingston would get his due."
Imagine being Eastern European, autistic, short, ginger, angry 24/7, attracted to emotionally unavailable men, bisexual, your soulmate is a boomer drug addicted journalist, your dad literally never wanted to talk to you again and you are 17 forever.
Honestly, I would crash out way worse than Armand.
What exactly does it mean when John Laurens is described as 'cold' toward women? Was he like mean or rude to them, or just kind of reserved with them or avoided talking to them? Because didn't others describe him as kind or polite? Was that just men he knew?
John was actually always very polite to women (and he even had some lady admirers, ha) - he just didn’t form close relationships with them, either romantically or platonically. Here are a couple of instances of him interacting with women:
“At the same time, John said goodbye to his closest friends. Before leaving, he received a delightful farewell letter from Alicia Hopton, the sister of John Hopton, one of Henry’s former clerks. She was stirred by John’s promise to send her a sketch he had made of Alexander Pope’s ‘Sweet Retreat,’ the poet’s country estate at Twickenham, England. Employing the language of sensibility then in vogue among women and men, she divulged her idea to create her own ‘Rural retreat’ at her family’s plantation on the Wando River. Because John has ‘such a fine taste’ and artistic talent, she requested that he sketch a plan for her sanctuary. There she would retire to pursue intellectual pleasures; there she expected John eventually to visit and lecture her family and friends, stirring them with his scientific knowledge; there, she wrote, you will ‘find me grown quite a Philosopher, depend on it, it will in part be oweing to you.’ That all lay in a distant and uncertain future. In the more immediate future lay John’s arrival in the mother country, where one’s finery made a lasting first impression. Hopton and another friend, Mary Esther Kinloch, ‘intended each of us to have work’d you a pair of Ruffles, but as time wont permit, we shall both work at one pair, which will be sent down next week. You will wear them I hope for our Sakes.’ She concluded on an affectionate and whimsical note: ‘I am Sir, your admirer. (as much as it is possible you can be mine).’”
“That evening, according to tradition, Laurens visited the Stock family plantation at the Combahee River. There, along with Captain Smith, he enjoyed the company of Mrs. Stock and her daughters. The conversation did not avoid the impending engagement. Instead, with characteristic gallantry, Laurens proposed that the ladies view the action from the safety of a scaffold.”
Both are from John Laurens and the American Revolution by Massey. Unfortunately, I don’t have John’s response to Alicia Hopton.
Here’s another summary of John’s behavior from Massey:
“In Geneva John worked hard, but he did not let his studies prevent him from forming close ties with fellow students and teachers. It marked the beginning of a pattern: he continually centered his life around homosocial attachments to other men. A handsome young man, properly genteel in his comportment, intellectually stimulating in his conversation, John never had difficulty attracting women and men. Women played important roles in his life, but he reserved his primary emotional commitments for other men.”
