Afraid there'll be a love-affair. Almost the best of all. 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. It had been easy to steal. There was something in Jonathan's manner, as he issued this command, that struck the man as singular, and he afterwards recalled it. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp.
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