So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. . Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. “I will not ask you to explain further. 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.
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