‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. 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. ‘So it would appear. " Figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes,—for the stout prizefighter, with a man's courage, had a woman's heart,—and the procession again set forward. Wood was dressed with more than ordinary care, and in more than ordinary finery. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. The Roof and the Window.
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