“Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. Niente. Wild and I were nabbing you in this very room, some nine years ago?" "I do," replied Kneebone; "and now," he added, aside, "the case is altered. After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup. The other was to go into business—into a photographer’s reception-room, for example, or a costumer’s or hat-shop. But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men.
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