“The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett. "You forget that you promised me a kiss the last time you were here. To his astonishment and delight it yielded to the pressure, toppled over the ledge, and sank. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. But, feeling secure of vengeance, he determined to abide his time. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. His subconscious sensed the unnaturalness of it and recoiled.
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