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. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. Stars appeared in the periphery of her vision. “Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move.
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