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. One can learn and understand only by personal experience, by actual contact with the realities of life. Annabel had been here then. "Get a chair, Austin. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. You must forgive the poet’s license I take.
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