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. ‘That rascally knave sent you to become a French nun?’ Looking positively terrified, the girl nodded dumbly. Her canines had receded, but were still 166 prominent.
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