“The doctor has asked me to give them my reasons—for shooting myself. " "What's that?" "Think it over," said McClintock, grimly. " "Ja," answered Van Galgebrok. 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. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. The delight of the turnkeys was beyond all bounds; but poor Mrs. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. Milice,’ Gerald translated.
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