The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. ” She tried to think of some altered state of affairs in which these monstrous limitations would be alleviated, in which women would stand on their own feet in equal citizenship with men. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves. You are not a tourist seeking adventure. And they come here, and they look at our furniture to see if it is good; and they are not glad, it does not stir them, that at last, at last we can dare to have children.
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