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She pulled her chair with a mild creak and marched towards the stair. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. ’ There was satisfaction in Melusine’s voice. 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. "I'll be his evil genius!" vociferated Jonathan, who seemed to enjoy her torture.
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