She moved then, fast, taking refuge behind a Chinese screen that was set beside the four-poster at the back of the room. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. 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. At last his voice came to release her tension.
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