"Here!" shrieked Lady Trafford. “But if you weren’t keen on the suffrage business, why on earth did you go to prison?” Ann Veronica reflected. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. She noticed an odd new gleam in Michelle’s eyes, a focus she had not noticed before. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. ‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here.
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