Go away!” “Why kill this one, Lucia? She shall be missed. I have calculated my chances, you perceive. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner. 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.
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