And it's a maxim of universal application: or, at least, of universal practice. “I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. She felt his whole mind sounding in ecstasy. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. She became at times an embodiment for Ann Veronica of all that made the suffrage movement defective and unsatisfying.
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