Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. Gerald lost his head. 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. A slow horror was dawning in his fixed eyes. They were the three most beautiful women I had ever seen. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over —and my toasted scones are delicious. ” “It’s impossible. All right, I’m coming.
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