Her mother did not seem to like the new doctor at all, shunning him with a near superstitious dread. Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?” “I doubt it,” he answered bluntly. For a moment he did not recognize Annabel. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. I’ve thought that out, and you must make up your mind to it. 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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