Gosse sneered. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger. “Ugh!” she said. Amid this skirmish Jonathan greatly distinguished himself. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. Could it be him you mean?" "No. " "A young fellow who thinks he's in love, when he has only been reading too much. " "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement. Little woman, you have been brave enough before. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round.
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