" She opened the book which she had brought to the table. “It’s—private. One of the cases in Jonathan's museum was now burst open, and a rope taken from it. 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. “Of course it is okay!” Cathy’s voice rose in volume and in pitch. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. “She wasn’t sane, my wife.
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