But with the skill of a fencer he met the blow and broke it, seizing the wrist. “My dear Anna,” he answered. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. ’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. In truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her. “It is not that. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. “I wish I could make every woman, every girl, see this as clearly as I see it—just what the Vote means to us.
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