“But if you weren’t keen on the suffrage business, why on earth did you go to prison?” Ann Veronica reflected. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. That Mr. A moment more and he would have been crushed beneath the ponderous board, when a slight but strong arm arrested its descent. So far she had not heard the sound of his voice. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. Mr. .
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