” “But Hainault—was—a pal. She would compose extremely lucid and honorable explanations. Tea in the laboratory was a sort of suffragette reception. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. The inn was a military haunt. Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses.
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