With your pencil you see into the hearts of all; and without your pencil you are dumb and blind. I will go with you. . 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. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. I’ll kill you, Sheila, and I’ll kill her too.
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