“The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett. “You cannot give me ultimatums. The elusive Jane tapped her on the shoulder after class. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me. The attempt was unsuccessful. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. What is the supreme idea in the heart and mind of youth? To win fame and fortune: and particularly to enjoy them. She added extra chocolate powder to disguise the bitterness of the pill. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms.
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