She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. Wood hadn't struck me. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. " "Puppy-love. Wood, by whom it was formerly occupied. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person.
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