She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle. "There, Sir," she added, unlocking the door, "you can go in. “Freedom! Citizenship! And the way to that—the way to everything—is the Vote.
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