“My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. Earles said, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed upon her, “forty at the ‘Unusual,’ two turns, encores voluntary, six for matinées. “To my chagrin, I have. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. ” Mr. Ann Veronica passed from her aunt to her father, and put her arms about him and kissed his cheek. On her lapel was an ivory button, bearing the words “Votes for Women.
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