He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Although she had said a great deal when she heard about the shooting that had left poor Jack so badly injured. She thought of the marvellous beauty of skin, and all the delightfulness of living texture. She gave up as he finished, spending himself in her mouth. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs.
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