Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. “I should like to understand you,” he said. She became at times an embodiment for Ann Veronica of all that made the suffrage movement defective and unsatisfying. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear.
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