“He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. “I wish I could make every woman, every girl, see this as clearly as I see it—just what the Vote means to us. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. "Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By the powers! I'm glad to see you. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. I gather you wish to go up in some fantastic get-up, wrapped about in your opera cloak, and that after the festivities you propose to stay with these friends of yours, and without any older people in your party, at an hotel. I arrived here with something less than five pounds in my pocket.
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