This mitigated her remorse enormously. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. 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. You don’t know what you’re saying, and I hope you never will. E. He cannot. ’ ‘Lord,’ Gerald murmured, awed more by the outspokenness of his hostess than by what she had said. " "Right," answered Ireton.
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