She admitted her pleasure to Ramage. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. “Hello, Teddy!” she answered. 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. They'll be back soon enough—or not at all. They could not have called it a fatal motor accident if he had not been dead.
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