She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. I'll send you word when I catch him. ’ ‘So that was it. ” “H’m!” said Ann Veronica, and shook her head. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along.
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