“The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett. " "Your husband?" "No. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. She must weigh her situation. "We shall never be able to get you out unseen, Jack," whispered Poll Maggot. Go and live somewhere else. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. They had heard nothing, seen nothing. Where was the message? Where was Gerald? Until he came back, what was there for her to do? Eh bien, it made no sense to do anything.
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