Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used.
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