” “Yes,” she said, and abruptly she liked him enormously. And yet—Wait a little, you’d better have every bit of it. ‘I’ll make it, miss. A moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone. ’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. 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.
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