“What is the good of talking?” said her brother. She meditated profoundly through several enormous cold hours on all that had happened and all that she had done since the swirl of the suffrage movement had submerged her personal affairs. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. ’ ‘Eh bien, what then?’ Emile sidled closer.
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