There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. I am going to ask him to finish it. ‘My wife would say she is English a little. . "Fold it … under the pillow. "I cannot sign it," returned Trenchard. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her.
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