"Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. His looks were fixed on his old benefactor. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. The new-comer looked at Charcam. “Among other things, you know, I didn’t understand quite—I didn’t understand that you were so keenly interested in this suffrage question.
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