’ The lad Kimble moved swiftly to the door and walked out of the room. “I do love you. By the time she was done, the bodies in the bathtub were gathering flies. This is a mere boy. 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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