" At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. 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. He would stare at her intensely when he was certain his parents were not looking in his direction. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps. Turning, she heaved at the bottom door and slammed it in his face just as he came leaping forward to grab her. Then he sensed the trap. He rather liked the "sir"; it signified both gratefulness and the chastened spirit. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily.
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