“Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said. 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. Yes—as he would have liked. " And he led the way to an inner room, in the middle of which stood a table, covered with a large white cloth. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. She discovered him sitting upon the floor beside his open trunk. As she came close, he took a pace forward and seized her from behind, one strong arm clamping her tight against his chest, the free hand seizing her about the mouth, stifling the cry that gurgled in her throat.
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