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. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. ” A man of infinite tact and kindness, he spoke his message and went. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. By the time John returned with popcorn and a large Coke, the theater had filled up with high-school kids. “And then they are swollen up and inflamed and drunken with matter.
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