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. She was clear there were no other minds like them in all the world. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. Your name?" "Owen Wood," replied the carpenter; "I've no reason to be ashamed of it.
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