They seemed to her that morning to be all armed with nets and prepared to throw them over her directly her movements became in any manner truly free. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. I’m a female thing at bottom. Ask your own conscience. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father.
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