He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. “But if you weren’t keen on the suffrage business, why on earth did you go to prison?” Ann Veronica reflected. "Put your arms about me.
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