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. It was a moment of breathless interest to all engaged in the attempt. Mrs. Nothing else matters. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles. “I can’t believe it. Then they had released her arms and were trying to push her away.
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