” “Come in out of the cold,” said Capes, and took her arm. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly. 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.
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