But it was not adieu, so she promised her old nurse. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. His deduction was correct that the beauty of Ruth Enschede could not remain hidden long even on a forgotten isle. “I wish I could make every woman, every girl, see this as clearly as I see it—just what the Vote means to us.
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