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. God knows how you did it. He was not in love with her en désespoir which, he said, was necessary if a man would marry without getting a dowry from his wife. My profession has hardened me. He hated himself a little for it. Even if she has to work two jobs to do it. But it’s only now I’m able to do it. There must be persons tender and loving in this world.
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