The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. I’m not sure if Janine cared. She was keenly resolved to do well in the school examination, and not to be drowned in the seas of emotion that threatened to submerge her intellectual being. 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. "Do you think we are to be disturbed in this way? Make less noise, hussies, or I'll turn you out of the Lodge. Further on, there were impressions of bloody footsteps along the floor.
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