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. She went to a dramatic agent, and he turned out to be the one who had heard me sing in Paris. I was in Lancashire, at our family seat, at the time you mention. Of course, there'll be a few kinks to straighten out.
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