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. “Great, Cathy. “Nothing can cheer me,” he said, “except champagne. “Are these ordinary sapphires?” she said. "The lash cuts to the bone. Well, I don't blame you on that ground. Why else?’ Gerald stared at her blankly.
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