The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. "Come, then," said Wild, marching towards the door, "we've no time to lose. Why else?’ Gerald stared at her blankly. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. Only you good ones— shirk. And I was altogether disgusted when he kissed me. I know now that I was mistaken. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said.
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