I can’t love you. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. "You'll not be offended, I hope," returned Wood, drily, "if I say that your voice, your manner, and, above all, your very extraordinary way of laughing, put me strangely in mind of one of the 'droll dogs,' (as you term them,) who helped to perpetrate the outrage I've just described. ” “I’ve told you,” he said. “I must confess,” he said, “the New Woman and the New Girl intrigue me profoundly. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living.
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