He continued thoughtfully. She was like an angel with one wing. Then all the embarrassments of the matter flashed in upon her. 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. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol.
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