“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. The future? He dared not speculate upon that. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. A girl of fifteen or sixteen gave her a handbill that she regarded as a tract until she saw “Votes for Women” at the top. “Sure. ‘But so also it is downstairs.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 17-09-2024 12:27:57
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