He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. . Nothing stronger than water has passed my lips for years. 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. But his lips were honourlocked. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition. Poor Ben was not so fortunate.
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