He's a hundred miles sou'-east of me. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. His face fell. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. And, setting down the link, he proceeded deliberately to untie his cravat. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea. There’s a great gulf opened, and nobody’s got any plans what to do with us. “Freedom! Citizenship! And the way to that—the way to everything—is the Vote. Heaven forbid.
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