You can have no shecrets from me. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. 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's a queer yarn.
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