’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. They talked across their meal in an easy and friendly manner about Ann Veronica’s affairs. 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. But his role was altered, and he was now playing the bridegroom in this remarkable drama.
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