But I know very well that that word will never be spoken. 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. Next instant, Melusine’s blade sank into Gosse’s flesh. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated.
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