Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order.
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