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The youth with the hair brushed back and the spectacled Scotchman joined in the fray for and against the women’s vote. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. I came to the Beck’s house.

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