“But I have forbidden it!” he said, raising his voice. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. This—all this swamps them. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. But, if you have come to surrender yourself to justice, it is well. “Do not force me to take you seriously,” she continued.
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