There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. ‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. " "Ah! Sometimes I wonder I don't run amok and kill someone," said the Wastrel, in broken English. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. . “I feel shabby and disgraced. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety.
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