” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. The prison was two stories high, with a flat roof surmounted by a gilt vane fashioned like a key; and, possessing considerable internal accommodation, it had, in its day, lodged some thousands of disorderly personages. She had found the location of his firm on the internet on a library computer, tracing him to this place in New York where he practiced criminal law. 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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