You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. Wood heard the cry. “I wish I could make every woman, every girl, see this as clearly as I see it—just what the Vote means to us. But I expect him back every minute. \" His brown eyes were tired and full of concern. As she talked she made weak little gestures with her hands, and she thrust her face forward from her bent shoulders; and she peered sometimes at Ann Veronica and sometimes at a photograph of the Axenstrasse, near Fluelen, that hung upon the wall. Every one else does. She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers.
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