“There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, “except the Vote. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. She guessed Jack was having trouble finding the right piece of carving. ’ She closed her mind on the possibility of finding out, and went on, ‘But me, I have been in a war, and I have won. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. It is dull—deadly dull.
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