Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. After we have got the Vote and are recognized as citizens, then we can come to all these other things.
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