‘Your niece, ma’am. ” It was, Ann Veronica felt, at once absurd and extraordinarily right. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. “There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, “except the Vote. Morality is a point of view.
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