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. His treatment of his wife is most unsatisfactory. Michelle laughed, saying that she could only guess. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. ‘All so long ago and my memory ain’t what it was. He too looked at the girl, slackened his pace and looked at her again through his eye-glasses, looked over his shoulder after he had passed, and finally came to a dead stop. CHAPTER XXVI. She was honest again. And guess what? I don’t sleep much, if you haven’t noticed. But this I cannot do.
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