She found herself in a phase of violent reaction against the suffrage movement, a phase greatly promoted by one of those unreasonable objections people of Ann Veronica’s temperament take at times—to the girl in the next cell to her own. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. "There's no outlet that way. "You have betrayed me," said he, in a deep whisper, to his companion; "but you shall reap the reward of your treachery. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels. I even offered him back the half interest he had sold to me. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. And yet for all that— It got into Ann Veronica’s nights at last and kept her awake, the perplexing contrast between the advanced thought and the advanced thinker. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. There’s no logic in these things.
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