E. 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. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. “Go on!” she commanded. There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world.
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