She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. “What do you mean?” she asked. And then—this sudden thrust. He was the junior of both his sisters, co-educated and much broken in to feminine society. She kissed Cathy's soft cheek as she entered the warm kitchen.
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