She had all the fascination of being absolutely perplexing in this respect. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. And for me there is only one treasure-house. I think you’re wrong. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life.
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