“I wish I could make every woman, every girl, see this as clearly as I see it—just what the Vote means to us. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. “I know,” she said quietly, “that Paris, where she has been so much admired, is not a good place for her. Montague Hill is. Petals!. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself.
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