Voices floated down, but there was no sound of pursuit. "Not proud in the least, I declare. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. She meditated profoundly through several enormous cold hours on all that had happened and all that she had done since the swirl of the suffrage movement had submerged her personal affairs. "Well, if you won't come, I shall help myself, and that's unsociable," pursued the speaker, evidently, from the noise he made, suiting the action to the word. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous.
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