Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect. “I wish I could make every woman, every girl, see this as clearly as I see it—just what the Vote means to us. "How have you managed to communicate with him?" Abraham, who had listened attentively to the foregoing conversation,—not a word of which escaped him,—now drew in his breath, and brought his ear closer to the boards.
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