’ ‘Ah, that was an affair altogether different,’ she explained and fluttered her long lashes at him. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. Why would militia be infesting the place? And he must by now be aware of my interest. Only think how compromising. All the rest—Movements! I can live now on fourpence a day. ‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress. 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. .
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