You. “You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter. And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid. 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 felt the whack from about six feet away, kitty corner.
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