Shari regaled Lucy with soap operatic tales of boy-girl intrigues at the high school, then spoke of her aspirations for the future. “You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much,” he said, shyly. She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer sense of inevitable conclusions. “What do you think of that?” he asked. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. She was fine and tender. Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief. “Ugh!” she said. "I'll soon free you from these bracelets. I’m not to study, I’m not to grow.
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