“You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her. Back, that you may be close together. I shall now be able to test my skill. 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. All the events of the previous day rushed to his recollection; and though he had been unintentionally the cause of his mother's death, he reproached himself as severely as if he had been her actual murderer. All four people moved a little nervously into the drawing-room, maintaining a sort of fluttered amiability of sound and movement. She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. I mean—I mean to do what I can. Very fascinating, though, trying to analyse the impulse.
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