‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. “To the view that all women ought to have votes whether they like it or not. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. A shy virgin bride would not press her thigh sinuously against his, nor consent indeed to this clandestine little comedy he had been playing. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth.
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