One day they were at tea in the laboratory and a discussion sprang up about the question of women’s suffrage. Hot coffee and cakes were sent in to them in the morning by some intelligent sympathizer, or she would have starved all day. He was followed by a great pile of black organs, hers, her female parts. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them.
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