Majorities, right or wrong, dare not revolt. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. ’ ‘Of what use to be ladylike when I cannot be a lady?’ ‘None of that. A girl of fifteen or sixteen gave her a handbill that she regarded as a tract until she saw “Votes for Women” at the top. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. A pretty piece. Softly she rose to her feet. "Good Lord!—cannibals?" "Aye. We've made a pretty penny by him—sixty guineas this blessed day.
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