" With this assurance, and at the reiterated request of Thames, the little girl reluctantly withdrew. When next he asked for her, some twelve hours later, he was told that Mademoiselle had left. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. “Well, I don’t think you told him as much as that, did you?” Lady Lescelles asked. ” “Ready for the performance next Friday?” Martin asked. 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 he recovered his mental faculties, he would lie there, neutral; they could save him or let him die, as they pleased; and the doctor knew that he would wear himself out forcing his own will to live into this neutrality. Through one doorway she saw a grave Chinaman standing on a stage-like platform. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father.
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