" "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. It is the health of a stranger,—of Mr. “My husband knows all. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. Miss Garvice assumed a quality of neutrality, professed herself almost won over by Ann Veronica’s example, and the Scotchman decided that if women had a distinctive sphere it was, at any rate, an enlarging sphere, and no one who believed in the doctrine of evolution could logically deny the vote to women “ultimately,” however much they might be disposed to doubt the advisability of its immediate concession. From then on he was Ruth's dog. “Oh, damn!” he said. I’m sick of this town and I can’t wait to get out.
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