Think of those days in Paris. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. I want to make myself visible to you. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. “I love you. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. Such ambitions as he had were stereotyped and material.
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