” Annabel rose and followed her sister from the room. ” “What ball?” The question was rhetorical. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. "What is your name?" To-day, however, he broke the monotony.
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