In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. At that, the girl jumped up. Would she ever find it? Sighing, she opened the door to the next room, and drew back the drapes. “The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett.
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