"Set your prisoner free!" returned Wood. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. It’s like this: You want freedom. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs.
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