Forgetting the dark thoughts of his last brush with the girl, he dropped the dagger back in his pocket, quickened his pace, and went back into the house to look for his hostess. Nasty, damp passages. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. 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. The Mohocks XII. I didn't expect you home before that hour, Sir. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them.
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