His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. 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. ‘That is the man who tries to kill me, but he wounded instead my servant. Montague Hill was taken for the millionaire once or twice, and I suppose it flattered his vanity. "After all our pains we were near losing him, Sir Rowland.
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