“John, of course I forgive you if it is what you need from me. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. 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. Jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad.
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