F. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Exactly,’ pounced Roding bitterly. 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. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese.
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