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. He leaned forward to better drink her in. You notice that I have recently spent ten francs on a box of the best Russian cigarettes, and that there are roses upon my table. She appeared to be considering. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best.
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