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“I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. "You think our sex has no feeling, I suppose, Sir," cried Mrs.
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