” She propped herself up on the massive oaken post of the bed, feeling the paralysis tingle her legs as it left them ever so slowly. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. “We are both of us trenching upon forbidden ground,” she said.
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