She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. She hung for a moment, and then went on, conclusively, “Until we have the vote that is how things WILL be. " "True," replied the widow, upon whom all the terrible recollections of the day before crowded, "I know it isn't. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered.
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