” She said to them, raising her head to speak, her voice unsteady. So, very carefully, he raised her in his arms and carried her to her bed. She decided to go out into the London afternoon again and get something to eat in an Aerated Bread shop or some such place, and perhaps find a cheap room for herself. She was fiercely and bitterly jealous. Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. John Sheppard. Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. She was still more stirred by the idea of the equal citizenship of men and women, by the realization that a big and growing organization of women were giving form and a generalized expression to just that personal pride, that aspiration for personal freedom and respect which had brought her to London; but when she heard Miss Miniver discoursing on the next step in the suffrage campaign, or read of women badgering Cabinet Ministers, padlocked to railings, or getting up in a public meeting to pipe out a demand for votes and be carried out kicking and screaming, her soul revolted. “Quite particularly nice,” said her aunt. His car was there.
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