"I won't trouble you further, Jack," he remarked. "You are free," said he, "that grating forms a ladder, by which you may descend in safety. Clarice loved babies as much as Lucia did and chattered about them day and night. But I’m not a slut either, if that’s what you think. 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. I am quite clear about this. No one could take the place for anything but what it was, and even Gosse hesitated in the doorway.
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