As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. “There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, “except the Vote. "And the Marchioness is your daughter," added Thames. Their eyes met, and his expressed perplexity and curiosity. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. She stared at his pleading face. I—listen. I know my son's voice too well.
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