She sat with him in the courtyard after serving him 20 spiced wine. They are tending to congregate, our poor French friends. 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. ’ ‘And if she can’t?’ asked Lucy.
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