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. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. It might be three yards in width, and a few more in length; but it was covered with ooze and slime, and the waves continually broke over it.
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