"No, I don't. ‘So now we come to it. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. I shall not let you go till I am quite sure. That's how I finally got wind of it. ‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams. 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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