“My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. A girl of fifteen or sixteen gave her a handbill that she regarded as a tract until she saw “Votes for Women” at the top. Shakily, she rose with the sword and drove it through Rhea’s heart. “Going to visit our little friend the vampire?” “What?” He asked, incredulous. But I sent him the longest way about. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. That is why I have dyed my hair, that is why I have abandoned my rôle of ingenuèe and altered my whole style of dress.
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