Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. But she veiled her feelings. "You have killed him," cried Winifred in alarm. And you see, I don’t turn my back, and I am looking at you and thinking about you from top to toe. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts.
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