They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. All human food tasted equally dead and loathsome to her, whether it was prime steak or cheap hamburger.
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