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. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. There’s hardly a night she doesn’t sneak out of the house. Before there is any change, any real change, I shall be dead—dead—dead and finished—two hundred years!. "Mark me," said Jack, sternly; "I have twice broken out of this prison in spite of all your precautions.
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