She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. “Where would you like to go? Are you hungry?” “No. A girl of fifteen or sixteen gave her a handbill that she regarded as a tract until she saw “Votes for Women” at the top.
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