There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. ‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. ’ She smiled on the last words, adding, ‘Oh, I don’t blame you for trying. 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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