She told her husband that she wished her nothing more than her own death. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. “If I was the world I think I should have put down a crimson carpet, and asked you to say what you wanted, and generally walk over me. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. ” She said. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals.
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