After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. ’ ‘And I love the way you call me imbecile,’ finished Gerald. 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. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers.
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