Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. I would not have him know—now—for the world. “Let us put the lamp out,” she said; “the flames are ever so much better for talking,” and Ann Veronica agreed. I am quite clear about this. “Thank you,” she said coolly. " "I will go, if you will consent to meet me at midnight near the old house in Wych Street," replied Jack. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. 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. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye.
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