“It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. “Freedom! Citizenship! And the way to that—the way to everything—is the Vote. “She doesn’t know. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. And it hampers us. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks.
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