I wonder why on earth the curtains are drawn. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. She was still more stirred by the idea of the equal citizenship of men and women, by the realization that a big and growing organization of women were giving form and a generalized expression to just that personal pride, that aspiration for personal freedom and respect which had brought her to London; but when she heard Miss Miniver discoursing on the next step in the suffrage campaign, or read of women badgering Cabinet Ministers, padlocked to railings, or getting up in a public meeting to pipe out a demand for votes and be carried out kicking and screaming, her soul revolted. “What has she told you?” “Everything. It is known that I am Melusine Charvill, which is also my right. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor.
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