‘Then we will beg. It’s made up of things as small as the diameter of hairs and big as life and death. “Miss Pellissier is nothing to me except a young lady for whom I have the most profound and respectful admiration. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. 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. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes.
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