“Unless you have an appointment, which you haven’t,” he said, “you’ll only waste your time here. I’ve never seen her quite so sure of herself. 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. But it’s only now I’m able to do it. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire.
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