She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. He shall have the estates. Anything that drew attention to her must be avoided. ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. 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. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. "There's no outlet that way.
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