We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. ” “Forget WHAT?” “And I said I wouldn’t. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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