She became at times an embodiment for Ann Veronica of all that made the suffrage movement defective and unsatisfying. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. She saw me, and, Lady Ferringhall, I shall never forget her look as long as I live.
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