She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. Take it, and take the estates, in Captain Sheppard's name. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering.
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