” “I thought so,” Courtlaw said. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. Miss Klegg and the youngest girl made a vigorous attack on Miss Garvice, who had said she thought women lost something infinitely precious by mingling in the conflicts of life. They were those of the Irish watchman. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips.
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