. "May I ask whether you made any further inquiries into the mysterious affair about which we were speaking just now?" observed Jackson, turning to the carpenter. He held in his hands many threads. Milky sunlight spilled on the floor. 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 the one that she had sworn she’d throw out, if only Julian had not liked it so much. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone.
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