Mrs. She would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. I like the way you shared it. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. 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. When she came to herself, she found that her brother had quitted the room, leaving her to the care of a female attendant.
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