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. “Where should we go?” Knowing that they would be dogged wherever they went, she volunteered, “Let’s go to the Big Apple. You’re going to live under the cat’s foot. It was not a long prayer. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. It is just the aim I have had in view all the time. I felt somehow I’d hurt you.
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