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John, he was between me and the door. 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 knew very well that his muscles were flabby, and his nerve by no means what it should be. "I dare not, Rowland," she answered. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly. The face of the man who lay there was clearly visible. He fancied, indeed, that he beheld a figure spring upon the starling at the moment when the boats came in contact; but, as he could perceive no one near him, he concluded he must have been mistaken.
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