His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. 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. ‘Come, mademoiselle, it is of no use to conceal anything from me, you know. You came to me, you wished me to speak to Anna.
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