All houses of means had not only a maid but usually a whole staff of servants. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. 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. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's.
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