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another. Modesty and instinctive breeding saved him from making himself a harlequin. In the midst of these preoccupations, he called, by arrangement, on Corinna. She was living with another girl on t

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he fifth floor of a liftless block of flats in Wandsworth. The living room held two fairly comfortably. Three sat at somewhat close quarters. So when Martin arrived, the third, Corinna’s mate, after a perfunctory

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introduction, disappeared into a sort of cupboard that served her as a bedroom. Corinna looked thin and ill and drawn, and her blouse gaped at the back, and her fair hair exhibited the ropiness o

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f neglect. The furniture of the room was of elementary flimsiness. Loose newspapers, pamphlets, handbills, made it as untidy as Corinna’s hair. As soon as they were alone, Martin glanced from her to her surroundings

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    and then back again to her. “My dear Corinna,” said he, putting hat, stick and gloves on

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    a bamboo table, “what on earth are you doing with yourself?” She looked at him defiantly, wi

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    th a touch of haggardness. “I am devoting myself to the Cause.” Martin wrinkled a pu

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    zzled brow. “What cause?” “For a woman there is only one,” said Corinna. “Oh!” said Mart

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    in. “May I sit down?” “Please do.” She poked a tiny fire in a diminutive tiled g

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rate, while he selected the most solid of the bamboo chairs. She sat on a stool on the hearthrug. ?/p>

Inceptos Parturient

癐 suppose you’re anti-suffrage like any other bigoted reactionary,” she said. Martin replied truly: “I haven’t worried about it one way or the other.” She turned on him swiftly. “Then you’re worse than a downright opponent. It’s just the contemptuous apathy of men like you t

Cras justo odio vel scelerisque nisl

hat drive us mad.” She entered upon a long and nervous tirade, trotting out the old arguments, using the stock phrases, parroting a hundred platform speeches. And all the time, though appearing to attack, she was on the defensive, defiant, desperate. Martin regarded her with a shocked expression. Her thin blonde beauty was being pinched into shrewishness. “But, my dear Corinna,” said he. “I’ve come to see you, as an old friend. I just want to know how you’re getting on. What’s the good of a political argument between us two? You may be wrong or you may be right. I haven’t studied the question. Let us drop it from a contentious point of view.

Amet Parturient Cursus

Let us meet humanly. Or if you like, let us tell each other the outside things that have happened to us. You haven’t even asked me why I’m here. You haven’t asked after Félise, or Fortinbras, or Bigourdin.” He waxed warm. “I’ve just come from Brant?me. Surely you must have some grateful memories of the folks there. They treated you splendidly. Surely you must still take some interest in them.” Corinna supported herself on an outspread hand on the hearthrug. “Do you want me to tell you the truth?” She held him with her pained blue eyes. “I don’t take an interest in any damned thing in God’s universe.” “May I smoke?” said Martin. He lit a cigarette, after having offered her his case which she waved aside impatiently. “If that is so,” said he, “what in the world is the meaning of all the stuff you have just been talking?” “I thought you had the sense to have learned something about me. How otherwise am I to earn my living? We’

Magna Vulputate Adipiscing

ve gone over the ground a hundred times. This is a way, anyhow, and it’s exciting. It keeps one from thinking of anything else. I’ve been to prison.” Martin gasped, a

sked her if she had hunger-struck. “I tried, but I hadn’t the pluck or the hysteria. Isabel Banditch can do it.” She lowered her voice and waved towards her concealed companion. “I can?/p>

Nibh Consectetur Dolor

痶. She believes in the whole thing. The vote will bring along the millennium. Once we have the power, men are going to be as good as little cherubs terminating in wings round their necks. Drink will disappear. Wives shall be like the fruitful soda-water siphon on the sideboard, and there will be no more struggle for existence and no more wars. Oh! the earth is going to be a devil of a place when we’ve finished with it.” “Do you talk like this to Miss Banditch?” asked Martin. She smiled for the first time, and shook her head. “On the whole you’re rather a commonplace person, Martin,” she replied, “but you have one remarkable quality. You always seem to compel me to tell you the truth. I don’t know why. Perhaps it is just to puzzle you and annoy you and hurt yo

u.” “Why should you want to hurt me?” She shrugged her shoulders, and sat with her hands clasping her knees. “Well—for one thing, you were my intimate companion for three months and never for a single second did you think of making love to me. For all the impression I made on you I might have been your austere maiden aunt. Sometimes I’ve wanted to take you between my teeth and shake you as a terrier shakes a rat. Instead, like an ass, I’ve told you the blatant truth.” “That’s interest

Dolor Vehicula Cras

ing,” said Martin, calmly. “But you seem to want to hurt everybody—those who don’t fall in love with you and those who do. You hurt our poor old Bigourdin and he hasn’t got over it.” Corinna looked into the diminutive fire. “I suppose you think I was a

fool.” “I can’t believe it matters to you what I think,” said Martin, his vanity smarting at being lashed for a Joseph Andrews. “It doesn’t. But you think me a fool all the same. I’ll go on telling you the truth”—s

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he flashed a glance at him. “Bigourdin’s a million times too good for me. I should have led him a beast of a life. He has had a lucky escape. You can tell him that when

you go back.” “I’m not going back.” “What?” she said with a start. He repeated his statement and smiled amiably. “Fed up with being a waiter? I’ve wonder

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ed how long you could stick it. What are you going to do now? As a polite hostess, I suppose I should have asked that when you first came into the room.” “I did expect something of the sort,” Martin confessed, “until you declared you didn’t take an interest in any damned thing.” Then they both laughed. Corinna stretched out a hand. “Forgive me,” she sa

  • not have experienced a more terrifying joy
  • . Like a woman clothes-starved for years, who has
  • been given the run of London sho
  • ps, Martin ran sartorially mad. He saw suitings,
  • hosiery, shoes, with Lucilla’s eye. He bought hi
  • mself a tie-pin, a thing which he had never posses
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