I believed that our marriage was genuine. “How unkind!” she exclaimed. ’ Pottiswick sucked at his teeth through the gaps. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. 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.
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