“Those were good. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door. "But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. ‘She may well try to go back. She and John were able to see each other many times and spent long romantic winter afternoons together. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey.
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