"I must tell you," she was saying. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. A narrow passage at the north of the Stone Hall led to the Bluebeard's room of this enchanted castle, a place shunned even by the reckless crew who were compelled to pass it.
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