“What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. Finally, at the exit into Regent’s Park, they ran against Miss Klegg. . Your disobedience be upon your own head. She held out both her hands. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account. She still kicked herself for it. “Freedom! Citizenship! And the way to that—the way to everything—is the Vote. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. "Not exactly," answered Jonathan, drily.
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